


Early Sunsets Over Derry

by h311agay



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Y2K, Zombie AU, but there's still plenty of fluff like, it's about zombies guys it cant be all sunshine and roses, some of them also happen to BE IN LOVE with each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h311agay/pseuds/h311agay
Summary: Title derived from My Chemical Romance's song "Early Sunsets Over Monroeville"Eddie Kaspbrak receives a phone call from his mother three days before Christmas saying she's incapable of caring for herself. With plans to visit Derry for the holidays already in place, he heads down early, only to find his mother in an unimaginable state. After getting her to the hospital, events continue to get weirder for the members of the Losers Club, until finally, the world descends into chaos.The Zombie Y2K AU nobody asked for but that I'm writing anyways!
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, The Losers Club & The Losers Club (IT)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Part I - I

**Author's Note:**

> Richie had taken to referring to the coming New Year as Y2K, and kept making apocalypse jokes every time he spoke to Mikey, often ending it with, “But there aren’t any other people I’d rather watch the world end with,” which was uncharacteristically sentimental of Richie, so Mike refrained from complaining about the jokes too much. Only when they got excessive.

**December 22, 1999 | 8:39 AM**

Eddie sighed as he snatched up the receiver on the kitchen counter and brought the phone to his ear. "Kaspbrak Residence. Edward speaking."

_ "Eddie-Bear _ ."

Eddie cringed as his mother's voice came through the speaker, and he reached up to punch the bridge of his nose. "Ma, hey, what's up?"

" _ Oh, Eddie, I… I'm sick, _ " she said, and hot anger flared in his stomach. It was always something with his mother. He had told her he wasn't going to be home for Christmas, that he was going to go with Myra to see her parents, and that had already been a huge argument with Sonia.

"Ma, I'm sure it's just a cold," he started.

" _ I can't breathe right _ ," she whimpered, and something in her voice led Eddie to believe that for once in her life, his mother might be being sincere. " _ I'm so confused, Eddie. I-I don't know what day it is. I can't remember when I last ate… I need your help Eddie." _

"Ma, you should really call and ambulance."

_ "Please, Eddie,"  _ she rasped,  _ "I'm scared." _

He hesitated for a moment, but then thought back on the argument he had just had with Myra on what he was allowed to wear to her parents', and suddenly, taking care of his sick mother seemed like a much better option. "Okay, okay. I'll be there, but it won't be until late. If you get worse,  _ please _ call an ambulance, alright?"

_ "I love you, Eddie," _ she said.  _ "I always knew you'd take care of me." _

Eddie frowned, "Love you, Mommy," he replied on pure instinct before hanging up the phone. He was quiet for a moment, before walking to the living room where Myra sat watching television. "Myra, honey. Change of plans."

**December 22, 1999 | 9:07 PM**

Eddie could say that a few good things came out of his mother claiming to be too ill to care for herself for the holidays. One being that Myra wouldn’t dare travel during this time of year, not that she would have travelled to see Sonia, she despised his mother, but she also wasn’t able to convince Eddie to  _ not _ go visit his mother. Two being that all of his best friends had also made plans to meet up in Derry for the holidays, anyways, so regardless of whether or not Sonia had gone to New York, Eddie still would have been making the trip to come down after Christmas to see them all. So in reality, it made it easier on him: Less time with Myra, more time with the Losers. He felt a small flash of shame at that thought, but it wasn’t like he and Myra had been getting along lately — ever since they’d gotten married, their relationship had turned into one of ceaseless arguing. Eddie felt stifled, suffocated, and no matter how red in the face he got when trying to tell Myra to give him space, she couldn’t seem to respect his boundaries. 

“I’m your  _ wife _ ,” had become her favourite thing to say anytime he tried to combat her overbearing tendencies, tendencies he hadn’t noticed until approximately two months after their wedding, when she reorganised his closet, effectively replacing his entire wardrobe with polo shirts and pressed khakis or slacks. He had to go out and buy a new pair of running shorts because she had “already donated” all of his old clothing. When he asked her why she did this, she had simply replied, “I’m your  _ wife _ . I know what’s best for you, Eddie-Bear.”

Almost as soon as he had felt the shame, it vanished, replaced with a conflicted glee at the Welcome To Derry sign. He was excited to see his friends, it had been far too long since he’d seen some of them, let alone all at once, but he felt some trepidation about being in Derry. The may be adults now, hell, Eddie had a wife and was approved six months ago for his mortgage, so was in the process of owning his own house, and the rest of his friends had at least finished out their first four years of college — except Bill, who was doing some convoluted abroad program that hadn’t started until his Junior year, but also delayed him another year — but that didn’t mean much to the folks of Derry. To them, he’d always be little Eddie Kaspbrak, the boy with bad lungs and a fanny pack to rival the local pharmacy. He’d always be a loser, not just a Loser, but a loser, with a lowercase L. Even though he knew from prior visits that Greta Keene was still working for her father, that Henry Bowers was constantly in and out of the county jail, that all the bullies who had made his life hell were now living lackluster lives while he was beginning to flourish, they’d always look at him with those sneers, like they were better than him.

And in some way, he knew he’d always feel like he was small when he was around them.

Soon enough, he was driving his car down the streets where he grew up, and pulling into the driveway of his childhood home. He sighed and cut off his engine, listening to pellets of sleet and snow land gently on the car’s roof. He’d been driving for almost ten straight hours, having hit heavy traffic trying to get through New York, again while in Connecticut after someone had an accident on the road ahead, and then a construction zone right outside of Portland. He was exhausted and wanted to lay down, but that meant having to go in and actually see his mother. Eddie supposed he hadn’t thought this whole thing through, especially arriving earlier than the rest of the Losers had said they would be. Eddie hadn’t actually planned to come down until after Christmas, his original plan to spend the holiday in upstate New York with Myra and her parents, but when Sonia called, claiming to be having difficulty breathing and taking care of herself, Eddie had jumped on the gun and left only a mere two hours after her phone call.

Now, it was nine o’clock at night, and he just wanted to go in and sleep, but he knew that a visit to Sonia was never easy. She was demanding and overbearing… Like Myra. He rubbed at his face with both hands, groaning. He was only twenty-three; he didn’t need to be going through a midlife crisis. He wasn’t even middle aged! Yet, here he was, realising how much he hated spending time with his mother, and with his wife. He glanced at his wedding ring and debated taking it off, but the torrent of questions and demands he’d get from his mother wouldn’t be worth it.

Eddie sighed and finally caved in, grabbing his overnight bag only, and got out of the car. He was surprised to see that Sonia hadn’t already made her way to the porch, calling out for him and telling him to  _ hurry up but be careful! The walkway is slick from the sleet. Careful, Eddie-Bear, but get inside before you catch a cold. _

He shook himself out of his daze when snow fell into his eye, and made his way up onto the porch and to the door. On a whim, he simply turned the knob and was both grateful and peeved to find it unlocked. Had she left it unlocked for him, or was she just in the habit of no longer locking the front door? He stepped inside, noticing immediately a strange smell. It was sickenly sour and putrid, but faint from the entryway.

“Ma?” He let the door close behind him, and a small flash of fear coasted through him when Sonia didn’t reply back. “Ma?” He called out again, a little louder, making his way down the entryway to the living room.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the living room lamp was on, and his mother was sitting in her armchair, the television playing softly in the background. “Hey, Mom, I’m here. Did you eat dinner?” He stepped closer to her and frowned, panic clawing at his chest suddenly.

Sonia’s skin had a greyish tinge to it, the whites of her eyes stained yellow, and her lips pale. She was drawing in ragged, wheezy breaths. She looked at him slowly, and her face lit up to reveal yellowing teeth, gums pale and bleeding slightly. 

“Oh, Eddie-Bear,” she rasped, trying to reach for him. He recoiled slightly. “Eddie,” she said. “I knew you’d come to take care of me. Such a good boy. You were always Mommy’s good boy.”

“Mom,” he said, voice cracking, “How long have you been like this? I - I gotta call an ambulance.” He darted toward the kitchen where the landline was and dialed 911, rattling off his address and name, as well as why he was calling before hanging up.

He came back into the living room and knelt down in front of his mom. “Hey, Mommy,” he said, voice gentle, something inside of him sliding into place. Despite all the lies from his mother, despite all the anger he felt toward her, he did love her; she was his mother, and for a long time, she was all he had. Right now, he was all she had. “Mommy, look at me.”

“Eddie-Bear,” she croaked. “Oh, Eddie-Bear. I knew you’d come to take care of me.”

“I called an ambulance, Mommy. You’re going to have to go to the hospital, okay?”

“No!” She wheezed, sitting forward so quickly it caught Eddie off guard and he tumbled backwards. “No! Just you and me, Eddie-Bear. Just you and me. You’ll make me better. I know you will. I’m already better because you’re here. I’m already better.” 

It was strange that she said that, because he noticed the way her eyes seemed to be clearing from their fog, the way colour was returning to her cheeks. She was still pallid and sickly looking, but something in her was already changing from when Eddie first laid eyes on her. “The hospital can’t help me Eddie. The last time I went, a man bit me — he bit me, Eddie!”

“A man b-bit you at the hospital?” He asked, incredulous. 

She nodded her head, and pulled her night gown collar to the side to reveal her shoulder. An infected looking bite, purple, with dark blue veins shooting from the puncture wounds, yellow puss oozing, was there. “He attacked me. I was just waiting for the doctor to see me. It was a check up, Eddie, and this man, he came, he bit me! I didn’t even speak to him.”

Eddie swallowed as she let her collar lay back to normal. “Ma, you have to go to the hospital. That looks infected.”

“No!” She wailed. “Please, Eddie, don’t make me go, don’t make me go!”

Fear, so palpable he could taste it, filled Eddie’s body. She was entering a state of delirium already. How long had she had this infection? How infectious was it? Was she going into septic shock? Why did she look so corpse like at first sight, but now was beginning to fill with colour and life again? Was his mother going to die, three days before Christmas? When had he seen her last before then? His wedding, ten months prior, was the last time he had seen her. Eddie came to the conclusion that he was, in fact, an objectively awful son on top of being an objectively awful husband. Perhaps being an objectively awful person was just who he was.

“It’s okay, Ma, I promise. I’ll ride there with you and make sure that you’re in good hands, okay? I’ll make sure you get a room with lots of windows, and a good heater, and a TV so you can watch your shows, huh? How’s that sound, Mommy? I promise, everything will be okay.”

**December 23, 1999 | 12:55 AM**

Everything was, decidedly,  _ not _ okay. The ride to the hospital had been a disaster. Halfway there, while the paramedics continued to try and draw vitals from Sonia, she had freaked out, and threw herself at the nearest paramedic, scratching along the woman’s face, and biting her lower arm. They struggled to get her restrained, leading her to biting the other paramedic on the hand, almost taking off his pinky finger in the process. Eddie had been extremely apologetic as they had to pull over to administer first aid to the first responders, and had spent the rest of the ride trying to calm his mother down, but her vitals continued to fluctuate and drop, and with it, her apparent sanity.

She had been whisked away by the ER before Eddie could even talk to someone, and had stood around for a good hour before a doctor approached him and filled him in on what was going on with Sonia. Apparently, a man had been brought in the previous week with extremely similar symptoms, the same man who had bit Sonia. He had descended into madness and had to be physically restrained, but his condition was not getting better and it appeared as though Sonia was going to take the same course if her aggression was any indicator to how long this new and unnamed disease was going around. This caused Eddie to have a minor panic attack, but he was able to collect himself long enough to listen to the doctor.

So far, the only noticeable transfer of the virus was through saliva, but there was reason to believe it could also be transferred through blood. As long as Eddie hadn’t come into any contact with either from Sonia, he should be fine.

“Fine,” Eddie said to himself as he arrived back at the now empty house, the cab he ordered from the hospital driving away. “You’re going to be fine. You  _ are _ fine.”

He stepped inside and glanced at the digital clock on the stove top as he passed the kitchen, it was now edging closer to one in the morning. He groaned and trudged his ways upstairs and into the bathroom, hoping to be able to scrub off the day’s events. It was satisfying to watch the soap and grime swirl its way down the drain, disappearing from him like it had never been there in the first place. He scrubbed until his skin was pink and raw, and then he stepped out, checking himself in the mirror for any signs that he was looking like his mother. Other than being a little pale, which he chalked up to his anxiety, he seemed… fine. No yellowing eyes, teeth or nails, no grey skin, or ruptured looking veins bleeding blue into his skin. No foggy films over his eyes.

He sighed and gripped the sink tightly as he fought to not vomit as wave after wave of exhaustion and paranoia crashed over him. He was so tired, but so wired he knew sleep wasn’t going to come easily, and right now the idea of having to take sleeping pills made him feel itchy. Eddie dressed and blow dried his hair, wanting to keep his hands busy. Finally, he made his way back down into the kitchen and was standing in front of the landline, holding the receiver in one hand while he wrapped the cord around a finger on the other hand. He took a deep breath and hung it back up, glancing at the clock and rationalising that calling Mike at almost two in the morning was not something a good friend would do, but, he kind of really needed someone right now, and Mike was the only one already in town, seeing as he never moved away.

He stood there for what felt like forever, staring at the phone, but not really seeing it. His mind was a raging storm, tugging his thoughts in all sorts of direction, making him guess himself time and time again, stalling, stopping him from reaching out for the help he knew he so desperately needed, but refusing to let himself accept it. He didn’t want to be weak, but was it weak to call your friend after you had to take your mother to the hospital? Common sense dictated no, but Eddie’s brain couldn’t stop telling him that for some reason, because it was him, it was weak. He eventually snapped himself out of his daze and saw that it was closer to five in the morning now than it was four in the morning, and surprise rushed through him, snapping him wide awake. Had he really stood there for hours?

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and picked up the receiver, dialing Mike’s number.

It rang for a few minutes, and Eddie was about to hang up, when Mike finally answered, voice thick with sleep. “Michael Hanlon, who’s calling?”

“Mikey,” Eddie said, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, chest tight with another oncoming anxiety attack. “H-Hey, it’s Eddie.”

“Eddie, hey, what’s up man? You don’t sound too good.”

“I’m sorry for calling you at such a shitty time but, fuck, I’m sorry. You were sleeping. It’s nothing, go back to bed. Sorry for waking—” Eddie was suddenly and horribly aware of how uncouth it was to be calling Mike before it was even five in the morning, and dropping an emotional bombshell on him. He couldn’t do this, not to his friend.

“Hey, wait, Eddie. No, it’s fine, I was waking up soon anyways. I live on a farm, remember? Got chickens and goats to feed. Something’s obviously bothering you. Talk to me.”

Eddie bit down on his knuckles before remembering what the doctor said about saliva and the virus transferring through it; a prickle of anxiety traveled down his spine and he dropped his hand. He was glad he called Mike, though. He could always count on Mikey to be selfless and there for his friends, even if they were inopportune in reaching out to him at times. “I… It’s my mother,” he said lamely. “She called me this morning, er, yesterday morning I guess. She said she was… she was sick and having trouble breathing, so I drove down and when I got here.” He swallowed, feeling faint, the exhaustion washing over him suddenly. Eddie pressed his forehead against the wall, trying to take in deep breaths, but his lungs rattled and he clenched the receiver tightly. “When I got here, fuck, Mikey, I thought she was fucking dead at first. She was… was grey and hardly breathing and then she seemed to be fine, but I called an ambulance because she looked so sick, and she fucking, went insane, man. Started biting the paramedics and had to be restrained and the doctor, th-the fucking doctor. Fuck. Mikey, she’s gonna die, or keep spiraling into madness. He said another patient was admitted last week with the same symptoms and that he wasn’t improving and only getting more and more aggressive and — and sick.”

Mike was quiet for a moment, “Damn, Eddie, I… that does suck. Do you want me to come over? I still have to feed the chickens and goats, like I said, but give me—” he paused, “An hour, hour and a half tops, and I’ll be there.”

“I… Please?”

“Yeah, of course, Eddie. I’m gonna go now, I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” Eddie echoed. “Just… Just let yourself in when you get here, okay?”

They hung up, and Eddie went on autopilot and walked himself to the kitchen, getting a pot of coffee ready for when Mikey showed up. He sat down at the kitchen table and clenched his hands together, and waited.

**December 23, 1999 | 6:04 AM**

Mike, after feeding the chickens and checking for eggs, then sending the goats out to the fields, took a quick shower, shoved a granola bar into his face, and drove to Sonia Kaspbrak’s house. He parked by the curb, and let himself in, per Eddie’s instructions. The house had a faintly sweet yet unpleasant smell to it, one that he recognised from growing up on a farm that came with rot, and he frowned. “Eddie?” He called out, starting down the entryway.

“In here,” came the other man’s response, from the first doorway on the left. He stepped into the room, which was fitted as a dining room and kitchen, and found Eddie sitting at the table with an untouched mug of coffee between his hands. “There’s coffee,” he said, idly gesturing to the cup in his hands with a gentle tilt of his head. “No creamer, but milk’s in the fridge on the door if you need it. Set out the sugar already.”

Despite this, Eddie’s coffee was black. Mike watched as he slowly brought it up to his mouth, testing the temperature before taking a sip. He looked like a wreck, hair uncombed and sticking up in the front from where he must have been running his fingers through it from stress. He was surprised Eddie wasn’t pacing, but supposed he must have been doing enough of it all night. His eyes looked tired, red and puffy, with dark bruises underneath them, and there was a furrow in his brow that remained even when he purposely tried to relax his face. Mike walked over to the coffee pot and found a mug waiting there for him.

“You look like hell, man,” he said as he poured his coffee. He turned around when he heard Eddie slam his mug onto the table, hot coffee spilling over onto the other man’s hands. He snatched his hands away and made a small hiss of pain, getting up to rinse his hands under the sink. “I-I do?” Eddie asked, eyes lighting up with a manic flame. “What do you - do you mean by that? Any y-yellowing of my-my eyes or like, are my g-gums bleeding?” He sucked in a breath to continue, but Mikey put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, feeling a flash of panic as he realised he had definitely said the wrong thing.

“Woah, man, woah, hey,” he said, keep his voice as even and calm as possible. Like when the goats got edgy about something. Calm. Composed. This is just a scared animal. “It’s okay, I didn’t mean like that. I just meant you look exhausted. Should have said that. You’re fine.”

Eddie fidgeted briefly, unable to meet Mike’s stare. He let out a shaky breath, voice cracking slightly as he spoke, “No scary looking blue veins spreading through my body? Mike, dude, it looked like she was - was  _ changing _ . I don’t… I don’t know how to - to phrase it any other way. Like…” He sucked in another shallow breath.

“Sit down first, then talk, alright, Eddie?”

Eddie nodded, a jerky, uncoordinated movement, and he sat back down. Mike found paper towels and used them to mop up the small spill Eddie had made when he slammed the mug down. Mike took the seat across from him after grabbing his coffee, black but with two sugars, and waited patiently for Eddie to continue.

“So… Last week she went to the doctor for a check up, I guess, something about her kidneys and diabetes. Standard routine check up. Some guy, he-he bit her.”

“He bit her?”

“Yeah, like, he got brought in for a check up because he’d been displaying these symptoms of confusion and aggression. He was some old dude, and they were thinking it was like, dementia?” Eddie spoke with his hands, one wrapped tightly around the mug and through the handle, the other flying through the space beside him as he talked. “So he’s in this waiting room with her, and I guess he just like, freaked the fuck out, attacked my mom. I don’t- I don’t know  _ why _ , if it was the d-disease or my mom just provoked him or what, ‘cause you know my mom.”

Mike nodded along with Eddie, he  _ did _ know Sonia Kaspbrak, especially now that he had become a more active member of Derry’s community, working part-time at the library and seeing her there a surprising amount, and having secured a slot at the Derry Fair to have a petting zoo, he’d become a part of people’s conversations. As in, they talked about him, and a select few Derry citizens had taken it upon themselves to tell  _ him _ what these people were saying; as if he didn’t already know. However, he had also known Sonia Kaspbrak because one of his best friends was her son, and as such, he had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting her in person more than once. Hell, more than twice, which was saying a lot considering Sonia Kaspbrak’s personality and her opinion on “That Farm Boy,” hanging out with her son. Sonia was not a fan of many people, and most people were not a fan of her.

“She showed me where he bit her, and, God, Mikey,” he said, voice strained and horrified. “It was… Why didn’t she do anything about it when it happened? Did they give her a tetanus shot or any antibiotics, I don’t even know! But it was  _ so _ infected, like… Remember the nightmares I used to tell you about? About th-the leper?”

“Yeah, the walking infection.”

“Yeah, well… I keep thinking of that. You could see where his teeth had sunk in. It looked… rotted there, all grey and green, with these awful purple and yellow bruises surrounding it. And it was oozing this—” He gagged before swallowing forcefully and taking a moment to breath. “It was oozing,” He said weakly. “And the veins, they were like, the spider veins? You know, that old people get on their legs all the time? All around the area, it was this dark, almost black looking blue. I swear, I was watching it spread through her. Like poison.”

“She might be septic,” Mike said after a moment as Eddie pretended to drink from his coffee.

“Is it bad I almost hope she is? If she’s that far gone, then… There’s no point in trying to fight off whatever disease this is, right? Mikey, they don’t even know what it  _ is _ . Just that it’s definitely spread through saliva, but not currently airborne.”

“No, Eddie, I don’t think that’s bad. To me, it sounds like she’s suffering. Is she experiencing any delirium?”

Eddie snorted, but it wasn’t a happy noise, “Yeah, she is. God, what-what kind of fucking son am I? I’m sitting here instead of-of at the hospital with her. She could be dying, she’s probably dying.” His face fell and he set the mug down before folding his hands into his lap. Tears began to fall down his cheeks. “Mikey, my mom’s dying. My mommy’s dying,” he sucked in a wet breath before bursting into heavy sobs.

Mike got up out of his seat and crossed over to Eddie, pulling him into a tight hug, rocking them slightly. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I know it’s hard, but I’m here for you. And the others will all be here soon, and we all love you so much and we’ll be there for you, okay? I know your relationship with her is complicated, but I also know she’s still your mom.” He kissed the top of Eddie’s head in a comforting gesture. Eddie sniffled against him, whimpering slightly. “It’s okay to hurt, Eddie. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be relieved.”

“F-Fuck,” Eddie said through his tears, holding onto Mike tightly. “I’m so glad I called you.”

**December 23, 1999 | 7:30 AM**

Mikey had washed up their mugs while Eddie went upstairs to change and brush his teeth. They had sat and talked for a while longer about Sonia, before moving onto lighter topics, like the Losers and when they’d all be arriving. Stan and Patty had already been in Derry earlier in the month, having spent Hanukkah with Stan’s family, but they had both said they would be able to come again later in the month just to meet up, as the firm Stan was working for and the school Patty was employed had Christmas holidays off, so they were free. They’d be arriving later tonight, and Mike suggested the two of them go to pick them up from the airport. Eddie had agreed much to Mike’s relief. Eddie hadn’t gotten to meet Patty yet in person, but had heard many wonderful things from Stan himself, and he was excited at the prospect of finally getting to meet her.

Bill was also due to arrive today, but Georgie had gotten his license and wanted to go pick him up, so they were making a family trip of it. Mikey wasn’t going to intrude on  _ that _ bonding experience. Besides, two trips to the airport in one day was not appealing to Mikey, as much as he loved his friends.

Richie wasn’t coming in until Christmas Eve, much to his parents chagrin. Neither of them had wanted to travel, so Richie had contacted Mike, and Mike agreed. When he told Eddie this, Eddie seemed to light up. “Oh, I’ll come with you to get him, too!” Ben and Beverly were spending Christmas with Ben’s mother, but they would be arriving at Derry on the 28th, so that they could at least spend a couple of days and New Year’s with the Losers. Richie had taken to referring to the coming New Year as Y2K, and kept making apocalypse jokes every time he spoke to Mikey, often ending it with, “But there aren’t any other people I’d rather watch the world end with,” which was uncharacteristically sentimental of Richie, so Mike refrained from complaining about the jokes too much. Only when they got excessive. 

Now, though, Mike and Eddie were getting ready to head out to Betty’s Diner, which was the only place open earlier enough and cheap enough for the two of them. Sonia didn’t appear to have very many foodstuffs in her home, mainly junk food, and Mike had made the suggestion that some fresh air and getting out of the house would be good for Eddie. 

They piled into Mikey’s truck, and he hummed as they began to drive away. “Hey, actually, why don’t we take your car when we head out to get Stan and Patty? It’ll have more space.”

“Can I trust you to drive it? Because, honestly, Mikey, I don’t think I could handle driving right now. I’ll plow into someone’s rear end because they pissed me off and I was feeling spiteful.”

Mike chuckled, “That’s fair. I promise to not rear end anyone if you let me drive your car.”

“Alright, cool.”

**December 23, 1999 | 3:46 PM**

Patty had her arm hooked into Stan’s, the handle of her suitcase in her other hand, rolling behind her. Stan mirrored her with his own suitcase. “Now, I know I told you about all of them, but let me warn you now—”

“Yes, yes, Richie tells inappropriate jokes, Eddie’s a spitfire, Beverly is a force to be reckoned with, blah blah blah.” Stan felt an overwhelming surge of affection for her as she smiled up at him. “You’ve told me all about them, babylove,” she said, leaning against him just ever so slightly. “I promise, the company you keep will be just as wonderful as you.”

“You say that now, but you haven’t met Richie yet.”

“And I won’t be until tomorrow, right? So at least Mike has a chance to leave a good impression.”

“Oh, Mike? I’m not worried about him,” Stan said. They stopped suddenly to prevent themselves from barreling right into a woman who had stopped in the middle of the walkway. Stan paused for a moment and glanced at Patty, who was looking at him in confusion, before the two of them sidestepped the woman and continued on their way. Just as they reached the exit doors, they heard someone scream, and Stan whirled around to see the woman who had stopped snarling and trying to attack another young woman. Stan went to take a step toward them, but Patty’s grip on his arm halted him, and before he knew it, airport security were descending onto the pair. Stan waited a moment longer before he and Patty exited the airport, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What the heavens was that?” Patty said softly. “That was terrifying."

Stan nodded, swallowing hard, but the tension eased away when he saw Eddie Kaspbrak half hanging out of a car window, waving at them. “Eddie must be with Mike,” Stan said, tugging Patty and their luggage along. “Eddie!” He called out, dropping Patty’s arm to wave.

Eddie got out of the car as they approached, and held his arms out for a hug, “Stanley! God, it’s been fucking ages, hasn’t it?” When they parted, Stan watched Eddie turn to analyse Patty, hands on his hip and head cocked slightly to the side. “And you must be Patricia Blum.”

“Patty,” she said, with a small smile. 

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you Patty. Stan gushes about you all the time, but I was starting to think you were just an imaginary friend,” he teased and Stan rolled his eyes.

“You’re talking to Richie too much,” he said.

“Bullshit, that asshole has been playing phone tag with me for three months. The first thing I’m doing when I see him is punching those stupid glasses off his face.” Patty giggled at that, and any concern Stan might have had about her opinion on Eddie’s spitfire personality melted away. How had he ever thought his friends and his girlfriend wouldn’t get along? He’d never let just anyone in like he had let Patty in, and he never would have let in someone who didn’t get along with his friends; they were such a vital part of his life the mere thought was impossible.

Eddie helped them get their luggage into the car, and then they all settled back in for the drive to Derry.

“Oh, Stan,” Patty said, nudging him with her elbow some. “We should tell them about what just happened in the airport.”

“Shoot, you’re right, how did I totally forget about that.”

“What happened?” Mike asked, glancing back at them from the rearview mirror. Eddie turned his head to the side to look back at them.

“A woman attacked another woman. She was clawing at her face and it looked like she was trying to bite her.”

Eddie gulped audibly, and the alarms inside of Stan’s head started to go off. “Jesus Christ,” Eddie said, slumping back into his seat. “Did… Did you guys notice anything off about her?”

“Just that she was acting weird,” Stan said.

“Well, actually,” Patty said, sitting forward some. “I don’t know if you saw, Stan, I glanced back at her after we walked past. Her eyes were all sunken in and looked—”

“Yellow?” Eddie asked quietly, and Patty nodded.

“And she looked ashen, like, really pale.”

Eddie nodded as if confirming something. “Yeah. Fuck, that’s… That’s really…”

“Eddie?” Stan asked, leaning forward as well, trying to look at Eddie’s face. “What’s going on?”

“My mom,” he said weakly, and Stan frowned. “She got sick last night, or has been sick, but she didn’t call me until yesterday. That’s why I’m here early. I came to check on her.” He paused, fidgeting with the car handle above the window, singing his arm back and forth. “She looked… really sick. It’s some kind of… virus,” Eddie said.

Stan’s stomach dropped, “Oh God,” he said, “Are we going to get sick?”

“N-no!” Eddie said quickly. “At least, I don’t think so. The doctors said so far, with all the patients that have been administered with this weird virus, it only seems to be through saliva. Probably through blood, as well, but it doesn’t seem airborne.”

Stan sat back and let out a relieved sigh, and heard Patty do the same. “Thank goodness,” she said, squeezing Stan’s hand.

“But she got aggressive,” Eddie continued, “And delirious. She bit the paramedics in the ambulance. They… They’re probably going to get sick now, too. And both women at the airport, and anyone else they might bite.

Stan let out a sardonic laugh, throwing his hand up to cover his mouth as it left him. “Sorry, but this sounds exactly like the plot of one of Richie’s Y2K conspiracies. Are you guys pulling a prank?”

“Dude, my mom’s in the fucking hospital and probably dying from a mystery virus.”

“Sorry,” Stan said quickly. “Sorry,” he repeated, softer this time, “That was insensitive of me.”

“It’s fine. I’m… handling it.” He shrugged awkwardly, but didn’t pull away when Stan rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “It’s definitely not great, but… I’m just hoping whatever it is is fast. I… I don’t want her to suffer, you know?”

“Yeah,” Stan said softly. “I know you don’t want her to suffer.”

The conversation lulled off and Mike flicked on the radio. Stan sat with his hand in Patty’s, watching the Maine landscape pass them by as Mike took them closer and closer to Derry. Stan noticed, at one point, Eddie had nodded off, but he didn’t say anything, supposing the other man was probably exhausted from whatever happened with his mother. He saw the Derry sign and squeezed Patty’s hand as they crossed the bridge into Derry. Mike dropped them off at his parent’s house and he stood, leaning against the car door to talk to Mike. 

“I’d invite you to come in, but you should probably be getting him back home, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “But maybe I’ll come swing by later, after Bill’s settled in. The four — five of us can get dinner?”

“Sounds good,” he pat Mikey on the shoulder before leaning back out of the window. “See you later, Mikey.”

Mike nodded before putting the car in reverse and driving away. Stan went inside where his mother greeted him with a kiss. He held her extra tight, thinking about Sonia Kaspbrak, and how Eddie had come here to spend the holidays with his mother despite their tumultuous relationship, and now she was now in the hospital fighting off a new and scary virus. Stan swallowed back his guilt and put a smile on his face as his mother led him and Patty into the kitchen for drinks.

“Oh, Stanley, dear, did you hear about Sonia, Eddie’s mother?”   
He glanced at Patty from the corner of his eye, frowning slightly. “Now, Mom,” he said gently, “I didn’t know you were one for gossip.”

“Oh, dear, no,” she said, turning around with her face scrunched up, an expression Stan recognised on his own face. “This isn’t gossip. She didn’t show up for brunch and book club.”

“I… what?”

“Brunch and book club,” Andrea repeated, giving him a sweet smile. “Ever since Eddie went off to New York for school, it seems Sonia’s been a bit of an empty nester. Actually,” she gave him a sheepish look, “We all have for the most part. Even Sharon’s felt a bit of it, although they still had Georgie. Not for much longer though,” she hummed.

“So you all started a book club?” He took the tea she handed him, thanking her.

“Sure did,” she said. “At first, we, uh, forgot to ask Sonia. But I ran into her grocery shopping last year, and we got to talking, which was odd, because she never was one for conversation.”

Stan snorted, “At least not nice conversation.”

“Stanley,” Patty said, seemingly offended, but her smile was too fond for Stan to take it seriously.

“No, no, he’s right,” Andrea said. “Sonia wasn’t particularly a people person. Suppose she’s still not, but she’s been trying. Anyways, one thing led to another while we were talking and then I was inviting her to come have brunch and join us for the book club.” She took a sip of her own tea, “She wasn’t there today, and of course, you can’t make  _ every _ meeting. Things come up, but she was always meticulous about calling all of us to let us know she wouldn’t be able to make it. So we called the house, but she didn’t answer. When we showed up, Eddie was there.”

Stan nodded, “He told me she was in the hospital,” he said. “It sounded fairly traumatic.”

“She was perfectly healthy just last week,” Andrea said, her voice touched just faintly with sadness. “To think, in such short time, she got so sick. I went up to visit her, and, dear, it’s awful.”

Stan set his drink down, and held out his arms for his mother. She leaned into him for another hug, resting her cheek on his shoulder. It was weird for Stan to be comforting his mother over the declining health of Sonia Kaspbrak, who was apparently a  _ friend _ to not just his mother, but Bill and Richie’s mothers as well. He wondered briefly, almost deliriously, how different their whole lives could have been had Sonia Kaspbrak been a friendly figure in their lives instead of a looming and angry one, especially how different things would be for Eddie.

Suddenly, a wave of panic crashed through Stan and he stepped away from the hug, holding his mother at arm’s length and looking her over carefully. “Are you okay?” He asked, “She didn’t… bite you did she?”

“What? No,” she said, looking startled. “Honey, I couldn’t have gotten close enough to her to have gotten bitten. We weren’t allowed in her room, but it has an observation glass. She’s… She’s in no condition for visitors,” she said softly.

“Oh, Mom,” Stan said, hugging her again, and this time he felt Patty’s arms wrap around them, too. He was never so grateful to have met her in his life than in this moment. He knew then, as Patty helped console his grieving mother, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. That she was the One. “I love you.”

**December 23, 1999 | 6:45 PM**

Stan was grateful for the fact his parents had two cars, and that his father was lending one of them to him for the duration of his visit, under the pretense he help his mother do her errands if she asked. Stan had no objection to that, so graciously took the keys, and then drove himself and Patty to Betty’s Diner. He scoffed when they pulled up, “I still can’t believe that when they asked Bill where he wanted to eat, he said here.”

“I think it’s cute,” Patty said as she undid her seatbelt.

“Bill’s always been about nostalgia. You know, when we graduated, he made us trek down to the Barrens? I can’t take you there, nor would I even want to now, but we actually used to play down there as kids. Made us walk through all the overgrowth just so we could scope out the old treehouse Ben had built us.”

“Overgrowth? But it’s called the Barrens?”

Stan chuckled, “Yeah, I know. It’s actually heavily covered in trees and plant life. Richie asked if anyone dared him to climb into the old tree house while we were there, which we hadn’t been in for like, two years at least, and we  _ all _ said no, except for Eddie who apparently lives to see Richie make an ass of himself —”

“Which I’ve heard was incredibly easy for him to do,” Patty interrupted. “Sorry, continue.” They got out of the car and started toward the diner’s entrance.

“Yeah, so he’s like, almost inside of it, right? One more rung and he’s golden. Turns out that rung was rotted away, so he falls down out of the treehouse, but not without bashing the back off his head off the opening. He lands on his back and ends up with a concussion and a broken collarbone. Sent him off to California and he was still in that sling,” he rolled his eyes but laughed at the memory.

“He sounds like a bonafide dumbass,” she said dryly, and Stan laughed some more. 

“Oh, you’re going to hate him,” Stan said. “He’s the worst, but I do love him.”

“You let me be the judge of that Stanley.”

“It’s a shame he’s not coming until tomorrow. Leave it to him to arrive for Christmas later than the Jews.” He’d have to tell Richie that one, it’d make his friend laugh for sure.

Patty snorted as they approached the table where Bill, Mike and Eddie all sat. Eddie looked up at them in surprise and frowned slightly, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I’m telling her embarrassing things about Richie, so when she meets him her expectations aren’t too high.”

Bill laughed and shook his head, “The two of you rag on Richie so much you’d think you hate him.”

“I do hate him,” Eddie and Stan said seriously in unison, before making eye contact and cracking up. Stan held Patty’s chair out for her as he tried to regain his composure and then sat down. 

As per usual, Eddie was already recovering and his mouth was moving faster than his words could come out. “But no, seriously, I’ve been playing phone tag with that asshole for three months now. I gave him my work schedule but I swear it’s like he’s calling when he  _ knows  _ I won’t be home. I get that there’s a three hour time difference and all, but seriously, guys, what the fuck?”

“Maybe he’s just got a totally different schedule than you, Eddie,” Bill said, tipping his water toward him as he spoke. “Maybe the best he can do is phone tag right now.”

“He better have a good reason for it,” Eddie said.

Patty leaned in close to Stan, using her menu as a shield and whispered under her breath so only he could catch what she was saying. “Are Eddie and Richie a couple?”

He smiled softly to himself, having to bite back the satisfied smirk he could feel trying to claw its way onto his face. Patty was far too smart for her own good. “No,” he said just as lowly, pretending to look over his menu even though he already knew what he was going to order from here. “But when they’re together, it’s hard to imagine them as anything but. Someday we hope they get their heads out of their asses.”

Patty laughed lightly to herself and went back to looking over her menu, and by the time the waiter had come by for their orders and dropped off drinks, the topic of the conversation had shifted.

“So you guys won’t believe the craziness that happened at the airport when I landed,” Bill said, stirring sugar into his coffee lazily. “It was like seeing one of my stories happen in real life.”

“Let me guess,” Eddie said with a sad smile, and Stan’s gut twisted painfully at the expression. “Crazy yellow eyes, grey skin, attacking people?”

“I… yeah, actually,” Bill said, straightening up and looking around the table in confusion. “How did you know? Was it on the news already?”

“Uh, no, not that I know of,” Stan answered. “But there was a woman like that at the airport earlier. She attacked another woman just as we were leaving the building.”

“And… my mom was like that last night.”

“That’s uh…” Bill floundered, looking lost of words. “Rough. Sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie shrugged, taking a sip of his water through a straw. Of course Eddie wouldn’t let his lips touch the diner’s cups. As Stan took a sip of his own, he realised that this was Derry, Maine, and Eddie probably had good reasoning for not letting the cup touch his lips. He pulled out his own straw and plunked into his water, trying to fight the urge to reach up and rub at his mouth. “Doctor said it’s most likely a virus passed through saliva, so don’t make out with strangers, and maybe save the getting bit part for the bedroom,” Eddie said, obviously trying to joke, but it fell flat and he fidgeted with his silverware. Stan could feel the tension starting to form at the table, and he was desperate to find something, anything, to say that would clear it. “So, just stay away from sketchy people and we’ll be good,” Eddie continued, and that gave Stan his opportunity.

“You’re pretty sketchy, Eddie, what’s that say about you,” and, damn, wouldn’t Richie be proud of him for that one? He could just hear him crooning into his ear “Yowza! Stan gets off a good one!”

Bill choked on his coffee and Mike immediately reached up to pat at his back. Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Stay the fuck away from me is what it means,  _ Staniel _ .”

Stan heard Patty chuckle at the nickname and his ears turned red. “You sound like Richie,” he said dryly, making Eddie snort.

“And you didn’t? That was totally a Richie joke you threw out there.”

“Yeah,” Bill said, still coughing slightly, “Almost expected him to round the corner yelling something about being ‘chuckalicious’.”

Stan groaned and leaned back in his seat, “I totally forgot he used to say that.”

“Used to?” Bill said, “He still does. I swear it’s like his body has grown but he’s still thirteen.”

**December 23, 1999 | 8:03 PM**

Mike pulled up into the Denbrough’s driveway, and turned toward Bill to say goodnight. Bill smiled fondly at him, a familiar warmth settling in his chest at this exact scene. He had nothing but good to say about Mike, about the safety and security he gave off, the aura of being home. “You should come in,” Bill said before Mike could say anything.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Naw, don’t be like that,” Bill said, undoing his seat belt and gesturing for Mike to do the same. “Georgie would totally love to see you, and my parents always liked you. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you stopping in and saying hello. Besides, you can meet Audra, since she didn’t come tonight.”

“Audra?”

“Yeah, she’s, uh, she’s my girlfriend,” Bill said. “I really think you’d like her,” he said sincerely.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing your girlfriend,” Mike said with a small laugh, “Hell, you didn’t even tell me, you  _ have _ a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, uh, we’ve been together about eight months now. It wasn’t anything super serious, which is why I didn’t bring it up to anyone. Didn’t want to jinx it you know? But her family decided to go to New Zealand last minute for the holidays and she’s always wanted to visit America so I figured why not have her come over, too? She had some serious jet lag and nausea when we got here, which is why she didn’t come. She was resting.”

“Well, I mean, sure. If you’re sure your parents won’t mind.”

Bill laughed as they slid out of the truck, “Dude, I’m twenty-three years old, I’m sure my parents trust who I bring into this house by now. Especially since it’s you,” he playfully punched Mike on the arm. “They know you’re one of my closest friends.”

“Right,” Mikey said with a smile, and it made Bill’s stomach feel warm, like he’d taken a shot of whiskey. 

The pair stepped inside the house and kicked their shoes off. “George,” Bill called toward the living room. “You here?”

“Yeah,” his younger brother called back. “We’re all in here.”

“All?” Bill asked, more to himself than Mike as they made their way into the living room. Bill smiled when he saw his parents, Georgie, and Audra sitting around the living room table, playing the Game of Life. “Hey, party people,” he said, arms wide. “I brought home a friend.” He stepped aside so Mike could enter the living room as well.

Mike gave them all a shy smile and raised his hand in greeting, “Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough, Georgie.” He turned to face Audra, but Bill couldn’t read his expression. Finally, Mikey’s smile melted away to something softer, “And you must be Audra. Nice to meet you. I’m Mike.”

“Mikey!” Georgie said, lifting himself up off the ground to run over and give Mike a convoluted fist bump, high five, handshake, secret code thing that Billy couldn’t keep up with.

“How you doing, little man?” Mike asked, patting Georgie on the shoulder when they were done.

“Good Oh! I finished that book you recommended. It was  _ so _ good.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Ben’ll be here shortly after Christmas and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to give you some recommendations, too,” Mikey said. Billy watched in awe as the two of them fell into easy conversation about books and literature. Something about the natural way Mike and Georgie clicked made him feel warm inside. 

Bill went and sat down next to Audra and gave her a smile. “Hope you don’t mind I brought someone by for a quick hello.”

“Of course not, Bill,” she said. “He seems nice, and your family sure seems to like him.”

“Yeah,” Bill said, “Mikey’s one of my closest friends. You’ll meet them all, but I figured it might be easier to meet them here and there instead of all at once. I met Stan’s girlfriend today, Patty. She seems really nice.”

She clicked her tongue in disappointment, “I should have just come to dinner with you. I ended up only sleeping for about half an hour, anyway.”

“It’s fine. Richie’ll probably want us to all get dinner together tomorrow, so you can come then. Warning, though, get Richie and Eddie in a room together and they just don’t stop.”

"I'm sure. Based off the stories you've told me, they sound like a riot."

"You talking about Eddie and Richie?" Mike said as he sat down on the other side of Bill on the couch. "Sorry, I heard riot and just assumed it was them."

Audra laughed and Bill couldn't help but smile. Her laughter felt just as much like Home as all the Losers' laughs did. "Oh, we definitely were."

"Should have seen Eddie at dinner tonight," Mike said. "Every other word out of his mouth was some kind of explicative," he rolled his eyes, but his smile was one of fondness.

"We call Richie ‘Trashmouth’, but Eddie swears more than the rest of us combined."

"The adults always thought Eddie and Stan were the most innocent of our group," Mike said.

"But honestly I have to give that title to Ben," Bill finished. "Ben doesn't have an evil bone in his body."

Audra gave them both a sweet smile, resting her hand over top of Bill's and lazily tracing circles into his skin. "Now I really do regret not coming tonight."

"No worries, Audra," Mike said, holding his hands out in a friendly gesture. "We have plenty of other meals to meet up for. Richie and Beverly will want to spend their every waking moments with us all, anyways. I promise, by New Years, you'll be sick of us all. Maybe even sick of Bill," he teased.

Audra laughed, a slight snort escaping her, and Bill felt his heart clench tightly, in a good way. "She survived the stutter,” Bill said. “If she could put up with me through that, I think she’ll survive our friends.”

"Oh, right!" Mike turned his attention back to Bill, "I meant to bring that up while we were at dinner, but I forgot in the moment. What the hell, man, is it gone for good?"

Bill nodded before giving a slight shrug. "Sometimes it rears its ugly head," he said. "Especially if I'm upset, but for the most part, yeah. Gone," he said, bringing up his free hand to wave like a magician showing that his hat is empty. "Audra was practicing lines for the school production, and I sat and helped her read through them. I pretty much eradicated my stutter by quoting Shakespeare."

"The play was  _ awful _ by the way," Audra added. "In case you were going to ask about that next."

Bill laughed, "Student production. Audra did amazing, but the play itself was…" he cringed, thinking back on a crew member who accidentally knocked over one of the backdrops in the middle of a climactic scene, almost crushing the performers on the stage at the time, and delaying the show for about thirty minutes. 

"Exciting, but not in the way you'd want it to be," Audra finished. "Calliope was almost flattened by a prop, and Herman lost a toe."

"Oh," Bill said in surprise, "He actually lost it?"

Audra nodded, "He decided to take his shoe off and show me in the middle of our Economics lecture."

"Gross."

“Mikey,” Bill’s mother said as she came back into the room after leaving for a drink. “Would you like to join us for a game or two of Life? We just started, so I’m sure no one will mind having to reset.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t stay too long,” he said. “I actually have to go get Richie from the airport pretty early in the morning. But thank you,” he said. Bill reached over and pat him on the shoulder. 

“God bless your soul,” he said sagely, and his mother scolded him.

“William, that’s no way to talk about your friends.” Bill and Mike both laughed at that, and Sharon eventually joined in as well. “He always was a handful, but never a bad kid,” she said fondly. “But sometimes when I’d take him home, I’d stop and talk to Maggie and all I could ever ask her was ‘how do you deal with him all the time?’” She snickered, “You know what she always said back?”

“What?” Bill asked, curiosity peaked.

“She’d say ‘Why do you think I’m always sending him over to your house?’”

Bill snorted slightly, trying to bite back his smile. “Whenever we’d go over there, she’d always ‘suggest’ we go play outside,” he said. “We thought she was the coolest because she never argued when we said we were going to the Barrens or the Quarry.”

“Now it’s because you realise you kids were exhausting,” Sharon said, but Bill didn’t detect any malice in her voice, just a slight fondness. “But you were all good kids.” She stood up and held her arms out to Mike for a hug, and Bill watched him stand and hug her back firmly. “Before you go, I made some brownies. I’m sending you home with some.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Mike said.

“Nonsense,” she said, waving him off. Bill’s dad got up and gave Mike a one-armed hug. Sharon returned with the brownies and hugged Mike one last time and then Georgie and Mike did another secret handshake.

“I’ll walk you out,” Bill said, coming up behind Mike and slipping an arm behind his back. He walked out to Mike’s truck. Mike set the brownies down on the hood and held his arms out for a hug, which Bill gratefully sunk into. He pressed his nose into the crook of Mike’s neck, where he smelled distinctly like Mikey, like Home. “I know I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said as Mike shifted to press his face into the side of Bill’s head, rocking them slightly. “But I hate when we part hugs. Your hugs are the best. Seriously, man, you could profit off of this.”

“It’s the farm arms,” Mike said good-naturedly.

“Mmh,” he hummed, eyes closed and content to just stay like this forever. That whiskey warmth was back, and he almost felt drunk with it. “God, Mikey, I love you,” he said, squeezing him tighter. He was elated when he felt Mikey tighten his hold in return.

“Love you, too, Big Bill.”

**December 22, 1999 | 9:49 PM**

Mike cut off the ignition to his truck and sat there for a moment. He was thinking about Bill, about Audra, and how he hadn’t even known Bill was seeing someone — for eight whole months! He brought a hand up to where Bill had been pressed up against his neck, tracing the area with his thumb.

_ “God, Mikey, I love you.” _ Those words had made Mike’s ears ring, his world feel off axis, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He also couldn’t understand why he had felt so hurt by the fact he hadn’t known about Audra. She was nice, he liked her, and she and Bill seemed happy, but a nasty swirl of jealousy went through his gut like he had eaten something bad. He picked up the brownies Sharon had given him and went inside. He kicked his shoes off by the front door and made his way to his kitchen to drop the brownies off on the counter. He grabbed a beer from the six-pack in his fridge and meandered into his living room after grabbing crackers and peanut butter from his pantry. As he sat down on the couch, he saw his answering machine on the side table blink at him. He turned it on and listened to the messages.

_ “Hey, Micycle,” _ came Richie’s voice through the small speaker.  _ “Uh, I’m at the airport right now, and you won’t fucking believe what happened. Flight attendant lost her shit as we were boarding, and attacked some passengers in front of me. We had to disboard and now we’re on a delay for a while, it’s looking like a three or four hour delay. I  _ —  _ shit, payphone beeped at me. Anyways, I’m probably gonna land more around ten or eleven instead of six. Sorry, man. If you can’t do that, just let my parents know or I’ll get a cab or something. Love you!” _

Fear was coursing through Mike’s body as he replayed Richie’s message. He put his head in his hands, trying to hold back tears, as he desperately wished he could call and get ahold of Riche to make sure he was alright. Had he gotten hurt? Had he gotten bit? Would he get sick? Mike pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, taking a deep breath. Richie hadn’t said he got hurt, he definitely would have said something if he had, Mike figured. So chances were that Richie was fine, he told himself. 

He let the machine move onto the next message, a telemarketer trying to convince him he needed to subscribe to a fitness magazine. He deleted that message and let it move onto the third. This time, it was Eddie.

_ “Mike, I, uh. Fuck. Sorry, I know you’ve been with me all day, and… Fuck you’re probably really tired but… Could you call me back when you get this? I just… Yeah, please, uh… Please call me when you can. Guess I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” _

Mike called Eddie as soon as the message was done.

“Edward Kaspbrak,” came his voice through the receiver.

“Eddie, you good?”

“Mikey,” he said, sounding slightly surprised. “Uh, yeah I… No.”

“Do you need me to come back over?”

“No, no, I just… I don’t think I can sleep here,” he admitted.

“Do you want to come over here?”

“I shouldn’t,” Eddie said, voice wavering and uncertain.

“Well why not? It’s not like I live with anyone, and I’ve got a spare room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, Eddie. Are you safe to drive? You didn’t get much sleep today.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Uh… Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate you, man.”

“I know,” Mike said, smiling, even though Eddie couldn’t see it. “See you soon.” He hung up the phone and went into the kitchen to check his pantry for ingredients to make some hot chocolate. Richie had told them back in highschool, that whenever Eddie was having a rough time, Richie would make him hot chocolate and stay up and watch movies. Since he had a few extra hours until he’d go pick up Richie, he figured he could convince Eddie to watch a movie or two with him, get his mind off of things.

Mike supposed he needed that, too.

He was pleased to find cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamom, and nutmeg in his pantry. He debated cloves, but decided against it. He measured out the spices and cocoa powder and then grabbed the milk and poured some into a sauce pan. He hummed as he waited for it to heat up, and had just dumped the spices and cocoa powder into it when he heard Eddie’s car coming down his driveway.

A few moments later, there was a knock on his door. Mike turned the stove off and went and answered. “Hey, Eddie,” he said, gesturing for him to come in. “I made some hot chocolate, want some?”

Eddie sniffed the air slightly before giving him a small and thankful smile, “Smells delicious. Yeah, I’ll have some.” He held up a small duffle bag, “Where can I put this?”

“For now, in the living room. I’ll show you one of the spare bedrooms when you’re ready to call it a night.” Mike went into the kitchen and poured them both a mug of the hot chocolate. Eddie came in and stood beside Mike, leaning against the counter. “I also think I have some spray whipped cream in the fridge if you want some,” he offered Eddie.

“No thanks, I’m good,” he took the mug from Mike and held it in both hands. He sighed slightly after taking a sip and licking his lips. “This is good. Is that… nutmeg?”

Mike nodded his head. “Nutmeg, cinnamon, and cardamom.” Eddie nodded his head as well as Mike listed off the spices. After a moment of silence, where they both just sipped at their hot chocolate, Mike decided to tell Eddie about Richie’s phone call. “Hey, I gotta talk to you about something, but you’ve had a rough couple of hours, so I think we should go sit down first.”

“Alright…” Eddie said, voice hesitant as he followed Mike into the living room. Mike sat down on the couch next to the end table with his answering machine.

“So, Richie called while I was out, and left a message. He’s going to be about three or four hours behind schedule.”

“Oh God,” Eddie said, sitting down as well and rolling his eyes slightly. “What did he do?”

“Just… Listen to the voicemail, okay? And try not to get too upset.” Eddie gave him a pointed, but confused look, brows furrowed deeply. Mike sighed and played the message. He watched Eddie’s face carefully, seeing it transition from confusion, to fondness, to horror in the span of the few minutes Richie spoke on the machine.

“Oh my God, Mikey,” Eddie said, looking up from the machine, eyes wide and pupils blown from fear. “What if-if —” He swallowed, setting his mug down with shaky hands. “Oh God, Mike, what if he gets sick? M-My mom? I can handle her g-getting sick and-and dying. As fucked up as that is to say, I can. B-But Richie?”

“I know, Eddie,” Mike said, throat tight as he tried not to cry. “Believe me, I know. I’m worried about him, too.”

Eddie put his head in his hands, fingers tugging at the hair at the top of his head. “Fuck, Mike, not Richie, I can’t… I love him, man. He’s my best friend. I can’t — any of you. It fucking scares me.”

“It’s my nightmare,” Mike said, echoing the sentiment of Eddie’s words. “It sucks, but there’s nothing we can do but wait until tomorrow when we go pick him up. I can’t have his parents make that drive only for Richie to…”

“God, I know.”

“Do you think we should tell them?” Mike glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and frowned slightly. “It’s kind of late. They’re probably asleep.”

Eddie sat up, rubbing the hem of his shirt between his fingers nervously. “Yeah, it is… We can… after we get Richie, if… If he’s been bit, then we can go tell them, I guess.”

“I don’t think he has been bit, though,” Mike said. “If he had, he would have said something. He would have said in his message if he got hurt in any way, so he’s fine. He has to be.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared intensely at the mug on the coffee table. “Y-Yeah,” he finally said after a while. “You’re probably right. He definitely would have said something if he got bit. He’s fine.” Eddie didn’t sound convinced, but Mike knew he wouldn’t be until he saw Richie unharmed with his own two eyes. Honestly, Mike felt the same way, but he had to keep telling himself Richie was fine or else he’d lose his mind.

“He’s fine,” Mikey repeated, making eye contact with Eddie. Maybe if they both said it enough times, he could actually believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Map of Derry I drew can be found here
> 
> https://h311agay.tumblr.com/post/624480633852395520/drew-up-a-map-of-derry-based-off-of-bangors


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After explaining the weird dynamic that was ‘Richie and Eddie’, ‘Eddie and Richie’ to Audra and Patty, Mike found himself sprawled out on the couch with Bill leaning up against him, and Audra half laying in Bill's lap, idly watching the news while Stan and Patty shared the love seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a lot of bad thoughts and feelings about himself, sorry.
> 
> This chapter is kind of slow, and I spent way too much time on Stan bitching about the ‘Richie and Eddie’, ‘Eddie and Richie’ dynamic but decided I'd rather not delete it all and try and fill that space with something else. 
> 
> Just a fair warning, the chapters will be less action packed until we hit part two of the story. which i will indicate by titling the chapter Part II - I or smthin like that i guess.

**December 24, 1999 | 9:37 AM**

_“Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking. We are just about thirty minutes out from the Bangor airport. We’re beginning our descent so we ask you please remain seated.”_

Richie groaned slightly from the airplane toilet, zipping up his pants and turning to the sink. He hated airplanes; he was too tall for the things, with long legs that folded up awkwardly behind the seat in front of him. He was sore and feeling crampy, not to mention just straight up exhausted from the past ten hours. Every time he nodded off, he’d see the flight attendant with her wild eyes and snarling mouth, throwing herself at the old man who had been sitting in the row right in front of Richie. He had been trapped in the window seat at the time, unable to get up and help pull her off. He remembered having to disboard, shaking as the paramedics approached him, asking if he had been hurt.

He hadn’t, but the sound of the old man screaming as the attendant bit into his neck, the popping noise his neck had made, the way the cabin quickly filled with the distinct smell of coins. He threw up at the paramedics feet when he opened his mouth to answer. He still had the shock blanket over his shoulders when he had called Mikey to tell him about the delay, and the hours leading up until he was back on a plane had been harrowing.

He made his way back to his seat, grateful this one was an aisle seat, and stretched his legs out as best as he could. Surprisingly — or perhaps not so surprisingly — the two other people in his row of the second leg had also been on the original plane, and the young man against the window seat had been one of the people who helped remove the flight attendant from the older man. He showed Richie and the woman between them the bite on his thumb, which had only just broken the skin enough to make it bleed slightly at the time. He had his forehead pressed against the window, face twisted up in discomfort and Richie felt bad for him; he must be getting air sick.

Richie leaned back in his seat, tilting his head up to stare at the air vents above him and sighed, trying not to fidget for the last half hour. He was certain that by this point, the poor girl between the two of them was ready to get off the plane as well.

His eyes flitted shut for a moment, and he started dozing off when he heard her gasp. “Oh my god,” she said, and his eyes snapped open. “Honey, are you okay?” Richie looked over at her to see what was going on and he saw the man’s mouth was bloody, eyes yellow around the irises and milky looking. His skin was an ashen colour, like he was going to faint or vomit.

“I —” his voice cracked, and inside his mouth, Richie saw his gums were bleeding. Before either of them could react, the man let out a low growl and lunged at the woman between them. She screamed and brought her hands up to block her face, and the man sunk his teeth into her wrist. She howled in pain and Richie jumped up, reaching for her, trying to pull her away from the man assaulting her. He got her away and tugged her up and out of the seats. Other people on the plane began to scream as blood and snarls filled the cabin. The guy lunged at Richie and he instinctively fell backward into the row of seating across from them, and brought a foot up. It connected with the man’s chest, and Richie heard a sickening crack as he was propelled backwards back into their own row of seating. People were trying to scramble out of their seats, and attendants were hurrying down the aisles.

The man jumped up again and attacked a flight attendant, knocking the two of them to the ground, and the attendant screamed out as the deranged man started to tear into his face. Richie hardly spared a moment to think about anything other than _“I need to stop that guy from biting people”_ before he started to undo his belt. He slid it through his belt loops quickly, and pushed past people to where two other people were trying to pull him off the attendant. “We gotta get this into his mouth!” He yelled as he knelt between them.

Richie tried to swoop it over the guy’s head, but he threw it forward, snapping at Richie’s fingers, and he pulled away just in time. Another set of passengers approached and grabbed his head, one holding him by the hair, the other braving being bitten by holding onto the sides of his face. Richie quickly got the belt into his mouth and then pulled backwards, sliding it through the buckle and pulling it tight. There wasn’t a hole that far into the belt, so Richie kept a hold of it. He noticed someone else followed his lead and took their belt to put around his hands behind his back. Despite this, the man was still struggling, snarling behind the belt in his mouth and tugging at the ones behind him. 

Together they got him off of the flight attendant, and people began to bind his arms and legs with more belts. Once he was bound enough, attention turned back to the injured people, but Richie stayed with the man, who was laying on his stomach at the front of the plane in the aisle. Richie was straddling his torso, making sure to keep the belt tight around his head — it was probably too tight, now that Richie thought about it, and he was probably hurting the guy. He had no intentions to loosen the belt, but he still felt kind of bad. Obviously this was some kind of psychotic break, Richie tried to tell himself. _“The guy got attacked on his last flight. He’s going through some shit right now.”_

Richie vaguely heard the pilot announcing that they were landing soon, and that paramedics would be coming in to get the injured passengers first, so Richie, along with the help of other passengers, moved the still struggling assailant to the back of the plane, where Richie resumed his position over top of him. He sat there, looking down the rows of other passengers, eyes lingering on the blood stains. His stomach twisted violently, and he leaned off to the side and vomited. He spit a couple of times, unable to wipe his mouth because his hands were covered in the same blood that filled the plane. He was thankful that none of it was his own. His adrenaline was starting to drop, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open and arms taunt as he kept the belt tight. 

He felt the plane jostle as it landed, and some people clapped, but no one cheered. In fact, Richie heard a distinctive sob come from someone toward the front. He sat there and watched paramedics rush in and take the two most injured passengers off on stretchers, while the others filtered out behind them. Police came in afterwards and cleared the other passengers to leave the plane, but that there were detectives waiting on the tarmac to ask them questions. They came up to where Richie was and helped him up before apprehending the still raging man.

He was escorted off by a stern looking police officer, but she gave him a gentle smile when she took his arm. “Come on, kid, let’s get you off this plane and get you some water. The detectives will want to ask you some questions.”

“Okay,” he croaked out, head spinning. “I think I’m gonna throw up again,” he said, and then he did.

**December 24, 1999 | 10:47 AM**

“I’m gonna have a fucking anxiety attack,” Eddie said as he clenched the arm rest by the door handle tightly. “We’ve been waiting for thirty minutes now.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “And Richie said he wouldn’t be landing until ten _or_ eleven. It might not be closer to noon until they land.”

“The cops showing up and barring anyone from entering the airport isn’t fucking suspicious to you?” Eddie snapped.

Eddie heard Mike sigh and he groaned, "Sorry, sorry. I need to get out of this car, get some fresh air." He undid his seatbelt and got out, leaving the door open, and leaned against the side of his car. He watched the airport doors intently, mere moments away from starting to pray — he didn't even believe in God, not anymore, at least. Yet he was ready to shoot the big man a prayer, one that included Richie being okay.

He heard Mike's door open, close, and then he was leaning against the car beside Eddie. "Trust me, I'm worried, too. I'm hoping whatever brought the cops here has nothing to do with Richie's flight, and nothing to do with this new virus."

Eddie whined, pressing his palms to his eyes until he saw white spots. "I hope he hasn't been bitten. I don't know what I'll do if he has."

He felt Mike's hand land on his shoulder and squeeze gently before he started to rub his back. His heart swelled with affection and he felt like an asshole for having snapped at Mikey. Richie was his friend, too, and here Eddie was letting his own anxieties bleed out and affect Mike; it was selfish behaviour, but he didn't know what to do to stop it. "I'm sorry," he said, and Eddie's heart clenched. "I wish I knew what to say to make this better."

"No, don't," Eddie said, looking up. His voice cracked slightly. "I'm being a shitty friend, _I'm_ the one who should be sorry. I'm just stressed out about my mom, and Richie, and my wife — I m-mean… I'm just… I'm just stressed and I'm taking it out on you. I shouldn't do that and I'm sorry." He hadn't meant to let slip about Myra, and he knew from the way Mike's eyes had narrowed when he said it, that Mike had caught that she was thrown in there, too. He hoped he wouldn't bring it up, at least not now.

To Mike's credit, he didn't. "I know you are," he said. "I'm not upset with you. I'm here for you." He moved his hand across Eddie's back to wrap it around him and pulled him into a side hug. "And for the record, you're not a shitty friend. You're a really good friend and always have been."

Eddie had to bite the inside of his bottom lip to keep from crying. "I really don’t deserve you, Mikey.”

“Hey,” Mikey said, voice soft and sweet. “Shut up.” Eddie snorted as Mike squeezed him just a little tighter. “I’ll decide if you do or don’t deserve me, okay? Can you trust me on that?”

“Yeah, yeah I suppose I can. But seriously, tell me if I’m being a shit friend?”

“Oh, I will, don’t worry about that.”

They stood there for a while, watching the doors together, sides pressed against each other. Eddie was exhausted despite having actually fallen asleep at Mike’s place around midnight, and also sleeping on the drive here. He felt bad that Mikey was driving him around in his own car, but he honestly didn't trust himself behind the wheel with how wired and tired he was. It was an accident waiting to happen.

He hadn't noticed when his eyes dropped shut and he started drifting asleep while pressed up against Mike, but he was startled back awake when Mike moved, "Hey, I think I see Rich coming."

Eddie blinked the sleep from his eyes and peered into the doors, spotting Richie just as the airport doors slid open. He started to smile, but as Richie got closer, his stomach dropped. He stepped forward toward the man who was looking around nervously. 

"Jesus Christ, Richie, what happened?" He paused as Richie continued to walk over, and looked him up and down. His hair was wild and messy looking, and his glasses were crooked — obviously broken or in desperate needed of tightening. His face, hands, and clothing were covered in blood, his clothes sticking to his body where they were soaked. He was pale and eyes wide. "Are you hurt?"

"Fine," he answered, voice high and shaky. "Well, I mean, no, I'm a fucking wreck right now. I think I might throw up again, but I'm not hurt."

"So you didn't get bit?" Eddie asked, chancing a step forward.

"No, I didn't get bit — wait," he said, stopping, and panic flared up inside of Eddie all over again. Had Richie gotten bit afterall? Was Eddie going to have to watch his friend descend into the same kind of madness and delirium his mother had? Richie was going to get sick, and he was going to look sick, and where the bite was, it was going to ooze and pus. The poison would spread through his friend's veins with every beat of his heart; Eddie would be able to track it. He was going to see all stages of the sickness he had missed seeing his mother go through. How long until the confusion? How long until the aggression? How quickly did the virus work? Eddie couldn’t find out the answers because of how new the virus was, he hadn’t even been given a name for the virus.

“How did you know he was biting people?”

Eddie let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, heart thumping painfully. “Really long story,” he said. “You haven’t been bit?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just… Can we get going? I’d really like a shower.”

Eddie nodded stiffly, walking back toward the car. He hesitated at the passenger door, watching Mikey help Richie get his stuff into the trunk. “Hey, Rich, take shotgun,” he said, swinging open the door to the backseat. “Stretch your legs out. Probably stiff as shit, you absolute freak of nature.”

Richie cracked a grin as he stopped Eddie from closing the backdoor, leaning against and stooping his head down into the car some. “It’s not my fault you’re still short as shit,” he teased.

“I am not short,” Eddie said as he buckled himself in. “I am five-nine which is a perfectly average height for the adult male. _You_ are a freak of nature.”

“God, Eds,” Richie sighed, and Eddie rolled his eyes, “You’re so cute. I’d pinch your cheeks if I wasn’t covered in blood.”

Eddie made a face, too disgusted by the fact Richie _was_ indeed covered in blood, and quite a bit of it. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he said, leaning away slightly. “I will literally go feral and kill you, then I’ll feel bad for killing you after having been worried about you, but then I’ll remember you touched me with _bloody_ hands and then I’ll be pissed off all over again and this time because you’re dead and I can’t kill you again.”

Richie laughed, squeezing his eyes shut as he did. His glasses fell down the bridge of his nose some, and he pushed them up with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not that much of an asshole,” he said, shutting Eddie’s door and then climbing into the passenger seat. “Although I am going to mess with your seat here, so I’ll probably be leaving blood on the handles.” Eddie grimaced at the idea of having to clean a stranger’s blood out of his car. “But let me clean myself up first then I’ll come and clean it for you.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said dumbly, “But, uh, I think I’d actually rather do it. Not that I don’t trust you but…” 

Richie shrugged as he slid the seat back, squishing Eddie’s knees to his chest. “No biggie, I don’t care either way. Clean the blood if you want. You got room back there, shortstack?”

“No,” Eddie said dryly.”

“Hmm, guess it sucks to be you.”

“I was _worried_ about you,” Eddie said with a grumble as he undid his seatbelt and scooted over to sit behind Mikey, who, despite being taller than Richie, hadn’t set his seat ridiculously far back, therefore leaving Eddie more leg room. “Guess you better fucking remind me why, because I’m pulling blanks.”

“Pretty sure the phrase is shooting blanks,” Richie said as Mike sighed and started up the car.

“Remind me why I volunteered to be stuck in a car with the two of you?”

“The phrase is definitely not shooting blanks,” Eddie shot back, “You’re thinking of a different phrase, and you’re fucking gross.”

“Because you love us, Mikey,” Richie said before smiling smugly and turning to look back at Eddie. “Also, the phrase is definitely shooting blanks. You shooting blanks there, Eds, my boy?”

“Okay, fuck you, you’re fucking gross. Mikey you can just pull back into the airport, Richie can go home. We’ll tell his parents that unfortunately, he wasn’t able to make it across the country, but he’ll try again next year.”

“You wouldn’t dare put me back on an airplane,” Richie said, feigning offense. “After I witnessed _two_ attacks on _two_ separate planes?”

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. Guilt swirled through him. Richie had just experienced what happened to Sonia twice in a fairly short amount of time, both times while stuck on a plane. The second time had obviously been harrowing, and here Eddie was, being kind of a jackass to Richie. First, an asshole to Mike, now an asshole to Richie. Adding on to being an objectively awful son and husband, he was also an objectively awful friend in general. “Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing the fabric of the seatbelt between his fingers and directing his eyes out his window. He could feel that his face was hot, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing from the shame, but he knew he was.

“What?” Richie asked, turning around in his seat more, “Wait, man, what? Eddie, what the fuck are you sorry for?”

“Joking about sending you back,” Eddie clarified, mouth feeling numb as he spoke, the shame hot in his gut and behind his eyes. “I shouldn’t have —” 

“Shouldn’t have what?” Richie interrupted. “You didn’t do anything wrong. If I didn’t want to joke about it, I would have said so, not make a joke back. Hey, look at me.” Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, and Richie sighed. “Come on, Eds, don’t be like that. Please, look at me.”

He couldn’t look at Richie, though. He didn’t want Richie to see his shame. He didn’t want Richie to look into his eyes and see everything about him that was wrong. Failure as a son, failing as a husband, failing as a friend. He had tried so hard to be what the world expected of him, but he was never quite good enough at achieving it; there was always a slip up, always a mistake. If he looked at Richie, he knew, somehow, that his friend would see all his transgressions written across his face.

“Okay,” Richie said. “I don’t know what’s got your panties all bunched up, but I can’t help you unbunch them if you don’t say ‘Hey, Rich, my panties are all up in my ass, can you cover me while I dig it out?’” As much as Eddie didn’t want to crack, he was already having to bite down on the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. Richie pushed all his buttons, all the time, and some of those times, he knew the right ones to push.

“Hell,” he continued, “Are you even friends if you wouldn’t reach in there and fix your friends wedgie? I’d totally reach in and just help yank that son of a bitch out. But again, can’t help you if you don’t tell me you need me to help you reverse a wedgie.”

Eddie let out a breathy laugh and his eyes opened, “Honest to God,” Eddie said, “You’re insufferable.”

“I think I’m just the right amount of sufferable,” Richie said proudly. “But seriously,” he said, face open and honest, “What’s up?”

“Not in the car,” Eddie said, “I don’t want to vomit.”

Richie nodded gravely, “Sure, yeah, totally fucking get that, man. I threw up, like, at least five times today. I’m fucking done with it. I think there’s actually, like, two more in there, at least, but I’m hoping after my shower I’m done.” Eddie screwed up his face slightly.

"How about we drop you off at your parents, then I'll drive back to the farm? I have some chores I need to get done. Eddie can come back around your way, so when you're all done with your shower, the two of you can talk."

"Good idea, Micylce," Richie said. "Now if you excuse me, I'm gonna catch a couple of Z's before we get to Derry. Hardly slept."

**December 24, 1999 | 12:02 PM**

Mike walked ahead of Richie and swung open the front door to his parents' house for him while Richie carried his suitcases in. "Maggie! Went! I'm here, but I'm a bloody mess so I'm hopping in the shower real quick."

"Rich—" Richie panicked as he heard his mother's voice coming from the living room, and approaching him.

"Sorry, Mom, not now! Shower!" He yelled out as he dropped his heaviest suitcases and took just his overnight bag with him. There were underwear and pajamas in there he could slip on to retrieve his other stuff later, but he really didn't want his mother to see him like this and then bombard him with questions. He managed to get to the bathroom unseen and only felt mildly guilty for leaving Mike there to answer the confused questions his mom would have, but not guilty enough to go back down; he was sure Mike understood why he left him behind.

He took his glasses off and set them on the sink and started to strip, grimacing where the dried blood crackled as he peeled fabric off of his skin. He'd never be able to smell pennies without wanting to vomit ever again. Once naked, he balled up the bloodied clothes and threw them into a plastic bag that he fished out from the bottom of the trash bin his parents set in there.

He remembered the angle the shower nozzle had to be at in order to reach the perfect temperature of scalding and stepped in under the spray before it was even warm, desperate to start scrubbing the blood off his body and out from under his nails. He had never understood Eddie's paranoid diversion to even the smallest bit of blood, but he felt like he was justified in feeling icky being covered in this amount. In fact, he could now justify Eddie being freaked out by even the smallest bit. There was something extremely uncomfortable about having someone else's blood on him, and for so long. He wished the police had let him clean himself up some before they asked him questions, but there was no use in moping about it now.

He shivered under the spray, but relished in it, too. It made his brain feel less foggy, more alert; the adrenaline crash was real, but he hadn’t actually been able to fall asleep in Eddie’s car, instead sitting there listening to the radio, as stock still as he could be, eyes squeezed shut, but the smell, the sounds, the fear, all of it kept him awake. He was bone-weary and the exhaustion was like fog in his brain, making his movements feel slow and uncoordinated.

Now that the cold water had woken him up some, he was able to keep his eyes open as he scrubbed at the blood on his body. The water was heating up now, and he sighed, leaning his head back so the spray hit his face. His eyes were closed, and he felt that sleep fog start to inch its way back in, but then he saw the man on the plane, with his eyes that were wrong, his skin that was wrong, his teeth that were wrong.

He saw those teeth inches from his face and snapped himself back awake, heart pounding. The water was still hot, filling the shower with steam, making his already piss-poor eyes struggle to see himself as he scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed. His skin was pink and raw when he got out, almost painful, but it was better than feeling the blood cake his skin, tug and crack as he moved and breathed, drying and flaking, making him itchy. He grabbed his toothbrush out of his overnight bag and scrubbed at his teeth, grateful to get the lingering taste of vomit and bile out of his mouth. He was grateful his dad was a dentist, because despite Richie’s questionable relationship with other forms of hygiene, he was meticulous about his teeth. He knew how expensive and painful teeth could become if neglected, so even if he hadn’t showered for over a week, he still made sure his teeth were clean. He brushed at _least_ once a day, even if getting out of bed to do so was the only thing he was capable of that day.

He stood in front of the mirror after he put his glasses back on, condensation wiped away with a towel, and looked carefully over himself. He was fairly certain he hadn’t gotten bitten, and had felt no pain in the shower, but a good look over couldn’t hurt — Eddie had seemed frantic about making sure Richie hadn’t been bitten. Richie knew sometimes he didn’t take things as seriously as he should, but the absolute fear he had written all over Eddie’s face and body was more than enough to make him take this seriously. Besides, maybe Eddie was onto something about the whole biting thing. The guy on the flight had been showing him the bite on his hand he received from the flight attendant just mere hours before he was snapping at people like a rabid animal. Richie wasn’t dumb; the correlation was plain as day to see, but only affirmed by Eddie’s hesitation to approach him before knowing Richie wasn’t infected.

 _Hopefully,_ Richie mused as he turned around and craned his neck to look over his back, _biting is the only way to spread… whatever this is._ He sighed in relief when he didn’t see any bites on his back and he fished out his clean briefs and pajamas. He grabbed the bag of bloody clothes, dropped his duffle bag off in his room — he was grateful to see Mike must have brought the rest of his stuff up for him, and he quickly changed into real clothing — and made his way to the laundry room.

“Mom,” he yelled out, “You got any good stuff for getting blood out of clothes?”

There was no answer from her, but a few moments later, as Richie was reading the back of a detergent bottle, his mother appeared with a bottle of cleaner. “Here,” she said, “Throw this in with the detergent and it’ll get the bloo- oh, Christ,” she said when she looked into the washing machine. “You might want to run that on a cold rinse first, then do an actual wash. That’s an awful lot of blood. What the hell happened, Richard?”

He winced at the full first name, “C’mon,” he whined, “Why’re you saying it like I did something wrong? I was an innocent bystander.”

She pursed her lips and cocked an eyebrow, “Mmh-hmm,” she hummed. “And I’m still younger than thirty.”

He squinted at her, “Your laugh lines tell a different story.”

“Child, I will ground you.”

“You can’t ground me,” he said. “I’m twenty-three years old!”

“Yeah, and you’re still my child.”

“I’m serious though,” he said, holding his hands up in innocence, “I’m actually entirely innocent in this scenario, and I will tell you what happened when Eddie gets back, because he wants to know, too, and I don’t really feel like having to talk about it a bunch. Right now, can we _please_ save my button up at least? I love that shirt.”

“Alright, alright, go get yourself something to eat and a drink. You look pale.”

“Love you, Maggie.”

“Yeah, you better,” she said as she shooed him away.

Richie shuffled his way into the kitchen, brightening up slightly when he saw his father sitting at the island bar with a newspaper in his hand and a can of beer in the other. “Hey, Went,” Richie said as he swung open the fridge, “Is the beer free game?” He glanced over his shoulder and watched his father peer at him up over his newspaper, furrowing his brows and squinting at Richie in suspicion.

“You’re twenty-one right?”

“Dad, I’m twenty-three.”

“I don’t believe that, where’s your birth certificate? And it better not be a forgery.” Richie snorted to himself as he grabbed a beer and closed the fridge. “Anything good in the pantry to snack on? I’m fucking starving.”

“Richard Wentworth Tozier,” his father said lowly. “Watch your fucking language.” They made intense eye contact for a second, Went’s face set into a serious scowl before the two of them cracked up. “There’s some of those Little Debbie brownies you like in there.”

“Oh shit!” Richie said, perking up. “Cosmic Brownies?”

“If that’s what they’re called.”

“Don’t act like I didn’t catch you eating them at four in the morning on January 18th, 1991,” Richie said as he pulled out two packs and tossed one to his dad. “You love these things too.”

Went sighed as he caught the packet, “You’re right. I shouldn’t, they’re horribly processed and not good for your teeth, but something about that greasy, fudgy brownie takes me to a better place.”

Richie nodded sagely, completely understanding of what his father was talking about. “Ever eat one stoned?” He asked.

Went raised an eyebrow at Richie before setting his newspaper down and crossing his arms. He leaned against the back of the bar stool and titled his head back as he looked Richie up and down. “You smoking the Devil’s Lettuce, Richard?”

“Pfft, what? Moi? Blasphemy. I’ve never so much as looked at a marijuana a day in my life, let alone consumed it in any manner.”

Wentworth nodded his head in approval, “So I suppose you also wouldn’t have any idea what it’s like to eat one of those brownies stoned?”

“Nope,” Richie said, shoving a brownie into his mouth. “Was just simply asking you if you had.”

There was a long pause between the two of them, and Richie cheerfully chewed on the brownie in his mouth. Finally, his dad picked his newspaper back up, flicked it to straighten it out, and went back to reading.

For his second brownie, Richie picked off all the colourful chocolate chips and ate them first before eating the brownie. He was washing it down with the beer when there was the sound of an approaching engine on the street. He listened to it pull into the driveway and cut out. “Oh, that must be the Spaghetti Man,” he said, getting out of his seat and heading to the front door. He swung it open before Eddie could even knock, and he grinned wildly at the shocked expression on Eddie’s face. His fist was halfway to the door, and he rocked back on his heels slightly.

“Christ, Rich, you scared me,” he hissed.

“Spaghetti Man!” Richie crooned, throwing his arms into the air. “I missed you!” He pulled Eddie into the hug he had desperately wanted and kind of needed back at the airport. He expected Eddie to fight back, to mouth off at him or shove him away, and he was surprised when Eddie instead hugged him back tightly.

It was the most enthusiastic hug Richie had experienced in a long time, since the last time he had seen Eddie, actually. The playfulness in his hug lessened, and Richie held Eddie back tighter, pressing his face into the top of Eddie’s head, his hair tickling his face, and glasses going slightly askew. “Fuck you for that nickname,” Eddie grumbled, but he didn’t pull from the hug. “I missed you, too,” he said. “Fuck you for playing phone tag with me,” he said, finally pushing Richie away, but he still held onto his shoulders as he looked up at him.

Richie couldn’t stop the dopey grin that crossed his face. Seeing Eddie was the best rush of Richie’s life. No amount of booze, pills, or cocaine could get Richie feeling the way he felt when he was in the same vicinity as Eddie. It was intoxicating and addicting, and when Eddie wasn’t around, Richie would crash and crave and cry. It’s why he limited his time with him, it’s why he took the incentive to distance himself and in the process _them_. But like an addict, when invitation to Eddie was given to him, saying no wasn’t an option. As much as it pained him, maybe less interaction with Eddie would make it so someday, he could exist outside of Eddie Kaspbrak. It was unhealthy to want to be around Eddie as much as he did, a textbook example of co-dependency issues, his girlfriend freshman year had told him. She was studying psychology, so Richie had taken what she said to heart. She’d know the text-book example of co-dependency issues; she was literally studying it. And when Richie had been shocked by what she said, she literally pulled out her textbook and started reading off the traits of someone who was co-dependent. 

Then she asked him if he was gay and Richie had literally laughed out loud, because she was _crazy_ . He wasn’t _gay_ . He wasn’t in love with Eddie. Then he sobered up and told her to get the fuck out of his dorm and she could come pick up her shit later. When he ranted to his roommate about it later, distinctly remembered saying _“She thinks its gay I want to spend my time with my best friend. Sorry that missing him is gay! Guess I’m gay!”_ Then a pause, then his hands, which had been in the air at his ranting dropped to his sides. He had sucked in a breath, eyes going wide. A hysterical laugh built up into his chest again, but he clamped it down with a weird cough. _“Oh my god,”_ he had said, feeling dizzy, bringing his hands up to rub at his arms. _“Oh my god, I’m gay.”_

Then Eddie had gotten a girlfriend, then Eddie was getting married, and then Eddie had asked Richie to be his best man. So being gay for his best friend was just entirely out of the picture. Any chances he might have head with Eddie went out the door when he started dating Myra. Then the door had firmly slammed shut, locked itself, then threw the key into the void when Eddie had asked Richie in that quiet voice he got when he was nervous if Richie would stand beside him while he got married. Richie couldn't say no to Eddie; unreciprocated feelings aside, Eddie was his _best friend_ and apparently Richie was also _Eddie's_ best friend, and Eddie wanted Richie not just at the wedding, but as a vital part of it. 

"You were an active part of that, too," Richie said. "Felt like I could never get you actually on the phone."

"Yeah, and I'm sure you weren't screening your calls or anything. I bet you let every call ring until it went to the answering machine just so you could avoid mine. I've tried calling you at every conceivable time, man, what the hell?"

Richie remembered Beverly once said he had a horrible poker face, and he bet she'd be eating those words if she can see Richie now, knowing what Richie knew. That he did indeed screen all his phone calls the past six months because he had started throwing up from guilt after every phone call with Eddie. That he had purposefully waited to make calls until he knew Eddie would probably not be home, or when he was likely to get Myra on the line. She didn't seem to like him very much and was always quick to get Richie to hang up. He appreciated her for that, but it scared him that maybe she saw it, too, like his freshman year girlfriend.

"Sorry, really, I've just been busy. Trying to make this whole comedian career take off isn't all cakewalk. I have to actually convince people I'm funny."

Eddie snorted, and every bad feeling inside Richie was momentarily cleansed. "Well, no wonder you're having a hard time. You're not funny."

Richie dramatically clenched his shirt into his hands over his heart and flinched away. "Youch! You wound me so, Kaspbrak."

Eddie rolled his eyes and pushed past Richie, "Let me inside, you weirdo, it's fucking freezing." Richie stepped aside and let Eddie in, kicking the door shut with his foot. "Hate to ruin the moment, but have you told your parents what happened yet?" He asked as he started taking off his layers and hanging them in the coat closet, a ritual he had seen take place countless times over the years. Richie leaned against the entryway wall.

"Nope," he answered. "Wanted to wait for you. Didn't feel like telling it twice, but I'm sure they're dying to know." He winced as the words left his mouth, nausea washing through him. "Beep beep," he muttered to himself. When Eddie was done taking off his layers, Richie gestured for him to follow with his head, and returned to the kitchen. His mom was in there now, brewing water in a kettle on the stove. 

"You boys want some tea?" She asked.

"No thanks, Mom."

"I'd love a cup, thank you, Mrs. Tozier."

"Please, Eddie, you can call me Maggie now, you know. You're an adult now, too." She got out another mug for Eddie and came over with her selection of teas. Richie sat and watched Eddie carefully read through the different teas before settling on one.

"Thank you," Eddie said with a pause just a hair too long, "Maggie."

Richie heard his dad let out a breath of a laugh from his newspaper before trying to cover it with a cough, and his mother turned to glare at him. 

"Eddie," Maggie continued, "I heard about your mother. I'm so sorry, dear. I went to visit her and it was just… I'm sorry you found her in such a scary condition. That shouldn't have happened."

Eddie's face went pale and Richie watched as he adjusted his collar awkwardly. "Um, yeah, thank you. It-It was scary."

"Your mom?" Richie asked quietly, and he saw Eddie's cheeks turn pink. 

"Uh, well, what-what happened to the guy on the plane. It sounds a lot like… like what happened to my mom."

The flash of the guy's teeth crossed Richie's vision again, and he held onto the island for stability. That had happened to Eddie's mom? And Eddie had been the one to find her like that? "Did you get hurt?"

"No. I'm okay."

"Guy on the plane?" Wentworth asked, interrupting them, turning his focus to Richie.

"As you're aware, I'm late getting here," Richie said with a drawl, extending his vowels just enough for him to take a long time to get the words out. He sighed, "Back at LAX, when we were boarding, a flight attendant just went… I dont really know, she just kind of started to attack the people in the row in front of me. Scratching and biting, like a rabid animal. She was really sick looking, too. Her skin was all pallid, kind of a yellowish grey. I didn't see much else but that because I was stuck against the window. We got delayed because of that. Biohazard on the plane, flight attendant down, pilot got involved too and he got hurt, so… We had to wait for another plane. Well, the connecting flight I got on in Denver, my seatmates were from that first flight. The guy in the window seat got bit on his hand."

Richie stopped, remembering how he nervously laughed, telling them about it. _"I just turned 17 and my mom finally trusts me to fly to see my dad on my own, and I get bit by a flight attendant."_

"Just before we landed, it was like… like the flight attendant all over again, but this time the guy was separated from me by some chick who's like half my size. She asked him if he was okay and I looked and… his skin was all weird. And his eyes were yellowed and foggy, and his gums were bleeding." Richie felt as nauseous as Eddie looked while he told them what happened. "He… He attacked her. Got her on the wrist and was just like… I got up and somehow got her away from him, I don't really… it all happened really fast. But then he jumped at me and I fell back into the people across from us and kicked him back." He scrunched up his face, remembering the crack of bones in the guy's body.

"I definitely hurt him, but it was like he didn't notice. He recovered pretty quickly and went after a flight attendant and got them on the floor. I ended up getting a belt into his mouth and we got him bound up. But I had to stay there and hold the belt around his mouth." He frowned, rubbing his hands on his jeans. "I think I ended up hurting him."

"You can't feel bad about that, honey," Maggie said as she set tea down in front of Eddie, and then some in front of Richie despite him declining any. "He was dangerous, and sometimes you need to forgo someone's comfort to protect the majority. Sounds like you were a hero."

Richie let out a sardonic laugh, "I don't feel like one. I just feel like an unnaturally lucky guy."

"You witnessed two vicious attacks on two different planes, Rich," Eddie said. "What about that is lucky?"

"I didn't get hurt in either one. The guy I had to keep pinned down wasn't so lucky. He got hurt in the first one, and it made him sick. Really fast. Like, twelve hours fast." He saw Eddie blanch.

"Sounds like my mother took longer than that," he said. "She got bit a week before she called me." Richie sipped at his tea, closing his eyes against the headache he was starting to feel. “You good, Rich?”

Eddie’s voice was so soft that it startled Richie into opening his eyes. He gave him a tired smile and drank more tea before nodding slightly, “Yeah, I guess I’m just tired.”

“I can go if you want me to,” Eddie offered, already starting to get out of his chair.

“No,” Richie said quickly, internally cringing at how desperate he sounded. “Uh, no, it’s fine. I just…” he gestured lamely at the room around them. “Kitchen lights are kind of bright. Want to hang out in my dark room like we’re sixteen again? We can exchange gossip and paint our nails.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and finished sliding out of his chair, “Sure, whatever, weirdo.”

“You kids behave,” Went said as they started toward the stairs.

“Sure thing, Pops,” Richie said, saluting him as they made their escape. When he spoke to Eddie as they made their way down the hall to Richie’s old room, his voice was low, “Can’t wait for them to hammer me with questions later,” he said.

“Can you blame them?”

“No,” Richie admitted, “But I don’t think I can handle it right now. I’m fucking exhausted. I just want to lay down.”

“Dammit, Rich,” Eddie said, glaring at him, “I can leave. Take a fucking nap.”

Richie hesitated as they stood in his room, Eddie in the center, facing him, and Richie in the doorway, taking up a comical amount of space in it as he leaned haphazardly against the frame. “I uh... “ He cleared his throat. “Would you be opposed to, uh, actually pretending we’re sixteen again and it’s not weird for us to lay in the same bed?”

Eddie was quiet for a moment and Richie struggled to maintain eye contact with him. He was staring at Richie intently, and he was suddenly afraid that Eddie could see the wanting of more behind the question. “Why would it be weird?”

“Because we’re adults now? And you’re, uh, married?”

“That doesn’t change the fact we’re friends,” Eddie said, and Richie watched him reach up to fiddle with the ring on his finger. “And we slept in a bed together before.”

“I just kind of don’t want to be alone,” Richie said quietly. “Every time I think I’m about to fall asleep I —” His voice caught as his throat seized up. “I see it.”

Eddie gave him a look, and at first Richie thought it was pity, but after a second he realised it was understanding. “I know what you mean. It was easier to sleep at Mike’s last night, but I still didn’t sleep well. A nap wouldn’t hurt.” Richie stepped into the room and yawned. “You… You’re sure you didn’t get bit?” Eddie asked, voice small.

Richie paused before taking his glasses off and setting them on the nightstand by his bed. He pulled his shirt up over his head, and was grateful he couldn’t see without his glasses, because he could definitely feel the heat of Eddie’s stare. “Wanna check?” He offered, holding his arms out and putting himself on display for Eddie. “I checked in the shower and after I got out, but your eyes are admittedly better than mine, so…”

Eddie cleared his throat and Richie saw him step closer, but not close enough to come into focus.

“Come on, Doctor K, what’s the diagnosis?”

“You look good,” Eddie said, voice a bit hoarse and it made Richie’s mouth go dry. “I m-mean, no bites on this side. Turn around?”

Richie obliged, skin prickling under Eddie’s stare, but in a way he wished he could feel all the time. He wanted Eddie to always be looking at him, but he shoved those thoughts to the side as best as he could. He jumped when he felt Eddie’s hand on his back, and he heard Eddie step away. “Sorry, sorry. You just got some bruising back here.”

“Where?” He asked, hoping Eddie missed the waver in his voice.

He was better prepared this time for Eddie’s touch. He trailed his finger gently down the curve of Richie’s spine. “All down here. It uh,” he stopped just above the junction to his tailbone, where Richie knew there were dimples in his back, “goes under your waistband. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I barely noticed any pain,” Richie breathed in, as Eddie let his hand rest at the most concave part of his back. “Probably happened when I fell backwards,” he said, wincing. Eddie’s hand finally dropped from his back and he had to fight back the shudder as cold seeped into where the warmth of Eddie’s hand had been. “Ready for bed? I’ll set an alarm for four. Plenty of rest, but plenty of time to think of a place to eat and get ready.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Put your shirt back on.”

Eddie didn’t need to tell Richie twice; he wasn’t sure he would have been able to get any sleep if he was shirtless in his bed next to Eddie. They laid down, Eddie grumbling about them both being too big for the bed now.

“Don’t worry, Eds, I have a solution,” he said, rolling onto his side and swinging a leg over Eddie’s, pulling his back against his chest and slinging his arm across Eddie’s torso, under his arm.

“Y-you call this your solution?” Eddie said, gripping Richie’s wrist tightly.

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “C’mon, I’m too tired to argue about this, and I know you don’t actually have a problem with this, you just said so.”

“Fine, whatever, just shut up. I’m going to sleep now.”

Richie chuckled against Eddie, letting his face rest close to the top of Eddie’s head. “Sweet dreams, Spaghetti Man.”

**December 24, 1999 | 2:30 PM**

Stan was standing in Mike’s kitchen, leaning against the counter next to the window and watching the birds flit around in the birdbath that was out there. There was a feeder as well, and a few goats grazed lazily at the grass around it, picking up the seeds the birds spilled. In the center of the room, at the table that was there, Audra and Patty were in deep conversation over the coffee Mike had made for all of them. Speaking of Mike, he and Bill were coming inside with firewood, sniffling from the cold as they dropped the wood off in the living room and began to take off their layers. Mike came over by Stan and grabbed the coffee carafe and two clean mugs. “Stan, will you grab the sugar for me?” He asked. “I think it’s about time we take this party to the living room, huh? It’ll be warm in there.”

Stan grabbed the sugar and trailed after Mike, joining the rest of the group in the earthy living room. Bill was already starting the fire, and Audra and Patty were sitting next to each other, still talking with each other. 

“Richie and Eddie won’t be joining us?” Patty asked as Stan set the sugar down next to the carafe.

“Richie had a rough couple of twenty-four hours,” Mike said, and Stan gave him a hard stare out of the corner of his eye. “I called right before you showed up,” he continued, pouring himself a cup of coffee and putting two scoops of sugar in it. “Maggie said they went up to Richie’s room and fell asleep.”

“So then where are we getting dinner?” Stan asked, bringing his own cup to his mouth.

Mike shrugged, “Richie’s supposed to be picking a place.”

“Well, he better wake up in time, because if it hits six and we don’t have a place to eat, I’m finding food with or without him.” 

“I asked Maggie to wake them up by five,” Mike said, “I know Richie all too well, Stan, don’t worry.”

“Did something happen with Richie?” Patty asked after a moment’s pause, and Stan had to hide his smirk behind the ring of his mug. “I recall you saying last night that you had to pick him up fairly early on in the day.”

Audra nodded, “Yes, you said the same thing last night before you left.”

Mike cleared his throat awkwardly, “Yeah, I did. Then I got home and he left a voicemail from LAX saying his flight was delayed. Apparently a flight attendant…” He waved his hand, not finishing the thought, but at this point, he was aware all of them here had experienced some form of the virus in action, well, except for him, he supposed. He hadn’t seen it in person yet, but he wasn’t going to dismiss that Eddie had, that Stan and Patty had, that Bill and Audra had. That Richie had — _twice_. “Eddie’s mom is sick,” he said finally, “with some virus that is fairly new and spreading quickly. There isn’t a lot of information on it, but I’m suspecting we’ll hear something about it on the news eventually.” He gestured to his television which was currently on, but the volume was low. “The… symptoms you’ve all described match what’s wrong with Eddie’s mom, and fit the narrative of how she got it — someone bit her.”

“The woman at the aeroport,” Audra said, “She had bitten her daughter, the husband was restraining her, but she was definitely trying to bite him, too. She was snarling, is the only way I can put it. Teeth bared,” she said, pulling her own back to emphasize. “Gums bleeding, and snapping at people.”

“Richie experienced it twice,” he said. “Once in LA, then as they were landing here. He seemed pretty…”

“Fucked up?” Bill provided and Audra swatted at him.

Mike let out a short laugh, “Yeah, I guess. He was apparently more involved with the second one. He’s definitely shaken.”

“More involved?” Stan asked, sitting forward, heart pounding in his ears. “Is he alright? He wasn’t hurt, was he? Mikey, please tell me he’s okay.”

“He’s fine,” Mike said, holding his hands up. “He says he wasn’t bitten, and that’s another reason Eddie went over, you know? To just kind of… make sure he really is fine. Richie’s upset, I could tell that clear as day, but you all know how things between him and Eddie are… different. Well, you and Bill, at least.”

“Patty deduced it just by hearing Eddie _talk_ about Richie,” Stan said, and Patty nodded along in agreement.

“Could someone fill me in, please?” Audra asked from her spot. “I haven’t met either of these two yet.”

Mike looked troubled on how to phrase it, and Bill’s mouth was poised like he wanted to speak, but his tongue couldn’t make the words work. Stan sighed, “Okay,” he started. “So Richie and Eddie are easily the two most different people in this world. Eddie is so high strung, I wouldn’t be surprised if at twenty-three years old he wasn’t already taking blood pressure medication. Also, his mother — and it’s important you know this because it’s literally integral to who Eddie is as a person — was batshit crazy and manipulative, but if you even suggest that in front of him, he has a fucking anxiety attack.” Stan sucked in a breath before continuing. “And Richie.” He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

“God have mercy on his soul, Richie is one of the single handedly most annoying people you will ever meet in your life, but he’s the most loyal and friendly person you will meet in your life, too. He’s also extremely funny, but you seriously cannot tell him I said that. Neither one of them shut up, ever. They always argue and bicker and goad each other on, it is literally the most awful mating ritual I have ever witnessed in my life.”

“They don’t sound like they particularly like each other,” Audra said with a raised eyebrow. Stan let out a small huff of laughter and he saw Mikey chuckling beside him. He made eye contact with Bill, who looked just as amused.

“Trust me when I say this,” Bill said to her, “Those two are so madly in love with the other, it’s one of _the_ sappiest things you will see in your life.”

“Well, I’m happy for them,” She said.

Mike laughed audibly this time, and so did Bill. “Oh, you misunderstand, Audra,” Mike said. “Neither one knows the other is in love with them. It’s honestly like a bad young adult novel.”

“Shit,” Bill said suddenly, voice quiet, almost horrified.

“What?” Stan asked.

“I forget about it all the time until he… he reminds me or something reminds me of it, but… Eddie’s married now.”

“Shit,” Stan echoed. “Shit, he is.”

“How do you forget something like that?” Patty asked them, disbelief on her face.

Stan frowned, squinting slightly as he looked up at the ceiling. “Now, Patty, love, what I’m about to say may sound crude—” 

“ — Yet you’re going to say it anyways?“ 

“ — Yes.” He sighed. “None of us think Eddie particularly wanted to marry Myra. Going back onto his crazy and manipulative mother thing? Yeah, Myra seems to be a lot like her. We live in Atlanta. It’s a twelve hour drive, but I see them every two months. Out of all of us, we live the closest to each other. It’s doable.” Stan took off his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. “I’ve noticed that lately, Eddie’s seem… Well, he’s definitely not happy. I don’t think he’s been happy for a long time, but ever since he married Myra and she moved into his apartment with him, he’s been…”

“So he’s leaving the honeymoon stage,” Audra said, “It happens sometimes.”

“Thing is,” Mike said, “Eddie’s never been in the honeymoon stage. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone until I got the RSVP for their wedding.”

“I only knew about Myra because she came over to Eddie’s apartment when I was visiting. Unannounced. Eddie didn’t seem too thrilled about introducing her to me. After that, when I’d ask about her, he never really wanted to talk about her. He never told any of us when he started thinking about proposing.”

“When I asked him about it,” Bill said, “He told me she had made a couple of hints about rings, mentioned the phrase “always wanted a family”, and asked him what colours he would want the wedding to be. Said he assumed the next step was getting engaged because if he’d been with her long enough for her to start thinking about marriage and a future, and the fact that he didn’t particularly _dislike_ her, meant that of course they should get married. It made sense.”

“It was logical,” Stan provided. “It seems like his relationship is just him going through the motions of what is expected, not what he actually wants.”

“And it’s his mom’s fault,” Bill said, “For fucking with him so much when he was a kid. But he won’t admit to it.”

“None of you spoke up at the wedding?” Audra asked, aghast. “You just let him marry her? If you all felt this way, why?”

“It’s not to say we didn’t try,” Mike said. “I told him point blank multiple times he didn’t have to marry Myra if he didn’t really want to, and that it was okay to call off the wedding.”

“He always just said he had to marry Myra, because he didn’t expect the opportunity to ever come up again. It was logical and it was convenient. He could check off the societal expectations of ‘find a girlfriend’ ‘get married’ off of the checklist.”

“The issue is we didn’t _all_ speak up,” Stan said. “Richie didn’t say anything to deter Eddie.” Stan shrugged, “Eddie asked him to be his best man, and out of some weird sense of duty as his friend, Richie refused to talk Eddie out of the marriage.”

“This really is like a badly written young adult novel,” Audra said and Patty echoed her sentiment. “A lot could have been avoided if they just opened their mouths and spoke to each other.”

“That would require them to use their brain cells for more than thirty seconds at a time,” Stan said dryly and Mike and Bill laughed in response.

**December 24, 1999 | 3:34 PM**

After explaining the weird dynamic that was ‘Richie and Eddie’, ‘Eddie and Richie’ to Audra and Patty, Mike found himself sprawled out on the couch with Bill leaning up against him, and Audra half laying in Bill's lap, idly watching the news while Stan and Patty shared the love seat.

“So, did Eddie bring his wife with him?” Audra asked, tilting her head back to look at Mike.

“No,” he answered, attention moving to Bill’s hand as it came up to rest in Audra’s hair, twirling strands of it between his fingers. “He doesn’t usually bring her when he comes to see one of us.”

“Oh,” she said, furrowing her brow slightly before turning back to the news. “Wait,” she sat up, Bill’s hand falling from her head, and reached over for the television remote, turning the volume up. “I think this is about the virus.”

Mike turned his attention back to the screen, seeing a reporter standing in front a greenscreen with a blurry picture of the Bangor airport on it. _“Last night, we reported on two assaults that took place here at Bangor National Airport, but recent news has told us that a third attack, likely related to the prior two took place as well earlier today around 9:30 am as Flight 290 was making its descent. After both victims and the perpetrator were taken to Bangor Hospital, it was reported that the two perpetrators from the previous attacks were infected with a virus that leading scientists are currently referring to as CEL - 99. It has also been confirmed that the assailant on Flight 290 is infected with CEL - 99. Numerous hospitals across the nation are reporting patients with symptoms of CEL - 99.”_

Mike risked a glance around the room, and noted everyone’s faces were somber. He couldn’t help but think about Ben and Beverly, the only two of their friends not here yet, the only two he didn’t know were absolutely safe and sound.

_“Hospitals have compiled a list of symptoms. Persistent low grade to severe fever, delirium, confusion, difficulty breathing and speaking, reduced reaction time, jaundice of the skin and eyes, bleeding gums, aggression, and violent outburst. Symptoms take anywhere from two weeks to twelve hours to manifest, and it is incredibly contagious via the exchange of any kind of bodily fluids. Scientists are asking that everyone please take precautions when going to popular locations, to practice social distancing, and to please report immediately to the emergency room or urgent care should you or anyone you know develop these symptoms. If you have received an open wound by anyone who displayed symptoms of CEL - 99, please report to the emergency room or urgent care for immediate medical attention.”_

The news moved to a different newscaster and Mike sat there in shock. He had been expecting something about this virus to be mentioned, but not like that. Rapidly spreading and aggressive virus? Spread through bodily fluids, but made those infected bite other people, thus effectively infecting them. It seemed surreal, and Mike thought back to what Stan had said in the car yesterday afternoon.

“This really is like one of those Y2K jokes Richie would make.”

**December 24, 1999 | 4:00 PM**

Eddie’s eyes opened slowly as the droning noise that had interrupted his dream grew louder and clearer — Richie’s alarm clock. He barely had time to register that he was waking up before he felt Richie’s body shift next to his, the torso twisting away and after a smack, the alarm went quiet.

Richie curled back up into Eddie, muttering something about “ten more minutes,” and Eddie was inclined to agree. His eyes were back shut before he realised he was falling back asleep, legs intertwined with Richie’s. There was an arm under him, and at some point while sleeping he had rolled over, so instead of back to chest, they were chest to chest, with Eddie’s arms squished up between them, his palms open and pressed flat against Richie.

He felt the weight of an arm fall onto him, and he barely registered the way his thumbs were tracing the fabric of Richie’s shirt before he was back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also if you see spelling errors or continuity errors, please let me know! I won't be upset lol


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patty followed Stan as he walked a block down Witcham Street, “There, that house,” he said, pointing catty corner from where they stood. “That’s Bill’s house. This one,” he said, jabbing his thumb back to the house behind them, “Is Richie’s.”
> 
> “You were fortunate to live so close to them,” she said fondly, waving at Mike as his truck puttered down the road to park at Bill’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to pace myself with this, I said. I'm going to take my time with writing this chapters, I told myself.
> 
> Then I pulled an all nighter and pumped out over 12k words in one night. Oops.
> 
> Please don't expect as quick of an update for chapter 4, though, because I'm so inconsistent on updates that it's the only consistency in my life lol.
> 
> tw: emetophobia, reference to unwanted sexual advances, internalised homophobia, usage of slurs against the queer community (used by a member of the queer community). Lots of crying. Referenced drug use. Referenced overdose. I type 'realise/realised' so many times in this chapter it's not even a real word anymore
> 
> Wow, all those trigger warnings make this chapter sound a LOT heavier than it really is. There's actually, like, WAY more fluff than angst, I promise.

**December 24, 1999 | 5:54 PM**

Bill gave The Falcon an uneasy look as he stepped out of Mike's truck, before glancing at Audra. "I've never been in here before," he told her. "So I don't even know what to expect inside, but it's a bar in small town America so…”

“So not all that different from the pubs in small towns in England?” She said with a cheeky grin. Bill let out a small laugh and nodded his head in agreement. “Your friend Richie must be a man of refined tastes.”

“Refined is a polite way of saying it,” Bill said, holding his arm out for her. 

“His first choice was the Jade,” Mike said from behind them, “But that’s where we’re going when Ben and Bev finally get here. And Eddie shot down another round of Betty’s, not that I can blame him. He and I ate there twice yesterday.”

“What?” Bill said, craning his neck to look behind him, but Mike moved up to his other side. “Why didn’t you say something, I would’ve chosen some place else.”

“What? Like the Falcon?” He said with a small smile. “It’s fine, Bill. He and I ate there for breakfast, so it wasn’t like we got the same thing twice.” He pat Bill on the shoulder and Bill had to fight to urge to melt into his touch. 

“Still,” he said, “There’s other places, like, uh…” He paused, trying to wrack his brain for locations to eat in Derry.

“Strawford Bar? Broadway Bar? The bar on Main and Jackson? The two gas stations you can buy prepackaged food?”

Bill twisted his face up, “Damn, I always forget how little Derry has to offer,” he said after a moment. “So after we eat at the Jade, what’s the plan?”

Mike hummed, “I was thinking we could act like real adults and cook.”

“But that’s so mundane,” Bill said. “Taking personal responsibility for our nourishment? We’re twenty-three! That’s too early to be real adults.” Audra laughed and held onto his arm tighter.

“You sound like Richie,” Mike said good-naturedly.

“I take that as a personal insult.”

“Hey fuckers!” Came a voice from behind them that Bill could place anywhere, anytime. He pulled himself from Audra’s grasp and turned around to see Richie and Eddie walking away from Eddie’s car. Richie had his hands shoved into his coat pockets, but was walking toward the three of them briskly.

Bill threw his arms out and met Richie the rest of the way, hugging him tightly. “Speak of the fucking devil,” he said, patting Richie’s back, but he was sure the coat absorbed most of the impact.

“Dude!” Richie said when they parted, blue eyes bright and wild behind his glasses. “Where the actual fuck is your stutter?”

“Gone,” Bill said with a beam. “Who would have thought pulling all nighters to help Audra study for a Shakespearean play was all it took to get rid of it?”

“Audra?” 

Bill stepped aside and tugged Richie back over toward Mike and Audra, Eddie quickly on their heels, muttering under his breath about black ice and shitty New England drivers. “Audra, meet the infamous Richie. Richie, this is Audra, she’s my girlfriend.”

Richie whistled lowly and held his hand out to Audra, “Damn, Big Bill,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “Nice to meet you, Audra. I am the aforementioned infamous, but hopefully soon to be famous, Richie Tozier.” Bill watched them shake hands. “As much as I enjoy the pleasantries,” Richie said, “It’s as cold as a witch’s tit out here. Let’s get inside.”

The five of them made their way into the bar, and Bill let out a soft sigh as he was hit with a wave of warmth upon entering the door. The atmosphere was fairly calm inside, but the overlapping of voices drowned out the few televisions that were hung up above the bar, currently just a standard news station. They found an empty table and Bill saw Eddie frown as they approached the table.

“This is only a six-top,” he said, “We’ll have to squeeze in another chair.”

Richie, who had already thrown himself into a seat, scooted back some and smacked his hands on his lap. “Here ya go, Eds. Think of it like a booster seat.”

Bill bit back his grin as he watched Eddie’s face go through the motions before settling on a deep set scowl. “Fuck you,” he said. “Your short jokes aren’t even funny.” He went over to another table and spoke to the patrons there before returning with an extra chair.

“Hey, it’s uncouth for me to make jokes about your mom right now, so you’ll have to settle with extra short jokes. Sorry. Maybe if you weren’t so short.”

“Not to say we aren’t all completely _enthralled_ with the current course of conversation,” Mike interrupted, helping Eddie situate the chairs while Bill took the free chair at the end of the table, off to Richie’s right. Audra sat down to his own right. “But we saw something on the news this morning that’s probably of interest to you two.”

Eddie perked up that and he quickly settled into a chair. The chairs were now set up so that Richie and Audra were shifted down a little closer toward Bill, also shifting down the (now) center seats, and leaving the last two chairs to rest on the corners. Mike took one of the corner seats closest to Eddie and glanced toward Bill.

Bill took that as an indication Mike wanted him to speak, and he didn’t mind. Mike looked tired and had obviously been the only one available to help Eddie sort through everything up until now; Bill didn’t mind taking the reins for this conversation.

“It’s called CEL - 99,” He said. “So we have a name for it now. It’s a-a fast acting virus, they were saying. Uh, they m-mentioned th-that they think it c-can spread th-through any type of bo-bodily fluid.” Bill felt his ears grow hot with each small stutter, it had been a long time since it had slipped out, but he was well aware it would be a snowball effect if he didn’t get it under control quickly. 

Eddie was quiet for a second, face pensive and drawn, and Bill had to tear his eyes away from his face when he saw a sad resignation fall across Eddie’s expression.

“Do you want to hear the sy-symptoms?” Bill knew he had to tread this carefully, because Eddie was liable to have a panic attack anytime someone so much as mentioned having a cold. This was something else entirely, a mysterious, new virus that the experts didn’t even know much about. Bill knew that lack of knowledge of what to do, how to treat it, how it worked… what would happen to those who got, all of that would bother Eddie. He knew that Eddie would get himself worked up to the point where he couldn’t breathe, and he’d try and use his inhaler, but it was fake and didn’t actually do anything, and that frustration would make Eddie get even more worked up.

Thankfully, Bill had only ever seen Eddie pass out a handful of times from his anxiety and panic attacks, but he’d very much rather the number never increase. Eddie’s face spoke even when he didn’t, always expressive and telling, and Bill could watch as Eddie mulled over the current information — or lack thereof — and finally came to a decision. His mouth was pulled down not into a scowl, but a frown, and his eyes looked dark.

“Yeah,” he said, voice just a little too high. “Tell me them.”

“I’ll tell you what I can remember, maybe Mike and Audra will fill in whatever I miss.” He tried to think back to the news report he had seen only two and a half hours ago. Were there ten, or eleven? Nine? “Fever,” he finally said after a second, lifting up his thumb as he tried to recount them all. “Confusion. Aggression. Violent outburst. Bleeding gums.” He faltered, looking at his open hand. “There’s more, I can’t…”

“Jaundice of the skin and eyes,” Audra supplied, “and difficulty breathing and speaking.”

“Delirium,” Mike added, “And reduced reaction times.”

“I think that’s all they listed,” Bill said as he counted them through his head.

Richie opened his mouth to speak, but then a server finally approached their table. They all placed their orders for drinks and Richie ordered a few appetizers, but everyone else said they’d rather wait for Stan and Patty before ordering more. After the server walked away, Richie fiddled with his silverware.

“You were going to say something, Rich?” Bill prompted, giving him a careful look. He hadn’t seen Richie until now, so he only got a report of what had happened from Mike.

“Yeah,” he said before clearing his throat. “I think there’s probably more to it than that. I… The guy on the plane…” He trailed off, waving his hand lazily, and staring off into the distance some. “He, uh, I hurt him. When he tried to attack me.”

Bill’s skin bristled at the idea of someone trying to hurt Richie, and then he flooded with an uneasy feeling at the idea of Richie getting sick. 

“Actually, uh… Can we wait until Stan and Patty get here?” He looked at Bill, and Bill could see how green Richie looked in the cheeks. “I really don’t want to talk about it over and over.”

“Yeah, of course, Rich,” Bill said, nodding his head. “How’s the agent search going?” He asked, effectively changing the conversation. He noticed Mike and Eddie fall into quiet conversation next to each other.

Richie’s face lit up and colour started to return to his face, “Really good actually. I’m heading back out to LA on the fourth and have a gig set up for the sixth.”

Bill hissed through his teeth, “Shouldn’t you be practicing?”

Richie laughed, “Don’t worry about that, Big Bill. You’re all going to be subjected to my material while we’re here.”

Bill pursed his lips, “Great,” he said flatly. “Seriously, though, an agent set it up?”

“Yeah, he’s, uh, he’s still new in the field. I’m actually his first, uh, client. But he found this bar a couple hours out from LA that does a comedy night once a month and he managed to squeeze me a spot.”

“Does it pay well?”

Richie made a weird face at that, like he was constipated. “Enough. For my first gig that doesn’t pay through tips only? I’ll take it. Thirty-five percent’ll go to Jason, but what’s left over,” he shrugged. “It’s enough to pay half the bills for a month. If I do well enough, it could be a permanent thing.” 

“Rich,” Bill said carefully, “You aren’t thinking of staying there forever right?”

To Bill’s surprise, Richie let out a loud guffaw, “Are you fucking nuts, Bill? Hell no I’m not staying forever.” He laughed some more before clearing his throat. “But it’s a good place to start, you know? Jason just took me on and already nailed me a slot? He keeps working magic like that, I’ll be climbing the ladder in no time. I’ll retire at the ripe old age of forty to my Beverly Hills mansion, having not written my own jokes since I was thirty-two.”

“You better not get famous before me,” Bill said seriously. “I’ve been talking to a publisher and I’m just waiting for the call back on whether they’ll take my piece or not.”

“Dude, are you kidding me? It’s the one you sent to me right? Over email?”

“Yeah.”

“Bill, it was fucking good, man. I wasn’t lying when I said that. The ending was kind of ‘eh’ in my opinion, but also I’m not the one writing novels, now am I?”

“You thought the ending was ‘eh’?” Bill asked, feeling a small surge of fear go through him. “Rich, what if the publishers _also_ think it’s ‘eh’ and don’t take me on? God, you should have told me that.”

Richie held his hands up defensively. “Bill, dude, shut up. It wasn’t _bad_. I, personally, as a reader, simply wished it had gone a certain way. That doesn’t mean it was a bad ending. Did Audra read it?”

Bill looked over to Audra who — yes she had read it — was nodding. “I did,” she said. “It was an extremely gripping book, Bill, I told you that. I couldn’t put it down, remember?”

“And the ending?” She screwed up her face and gave him a sorry look with her eyes. Bill groaned, “You hated it, too?”

“I didn’t _hate_ it,” she said quickly. “Like Richie said, I just had kind of hoped it would have gone differently. But it’s still a strong ending, honey. I promise. The publishers are going to find absolutely no reason to _not_ work with you. You’ll be doing book signings in no time.”

“Hey, let me know when there’s a release date,” Richie interjected. “I should be mildly recognisable and trustworthy to the masses by then if things go how I’m hoping. I’ll pitch your book to everyone” He straightened up and Bill could see the character Richie was assuming take place. When he spoke again, it was in an Voice of a 1930’s broadcaster. “Ladies and Gentlemen, do you hate happiness? Do you ridicule laughter and joy? Are you more comfortable with the macabre? First of all, if you do, why are you here? Second of all, I urge you to purchase a copy of William Denbrough’s debut novel — I forget the name.”

“Black Rapids,” Bill supplied. “Nice broadcaster Voice.”

“Thanks,” Richie said, voice back to normal. “Van Voorhis,” he said.

Bill blinked, slightly confused, “Huh?”

“Van Voorhis? Westbrook Van Voorhis?”

“I have no idea who that is,” Bill admitted, a sheepish look crossing his face.

Richie squawked at him, mouth dropping open, like he was physically appalled by this information. “Van Voorhis’ way of narrating movies and shows was literally pivotal to broadcasting and how people did it for decades. _His_ way, no, his _cadence_ , of speaking literally influenced how newscasters spoke. That ‘old timey announcer voice’ is literally his voice.”

“Sorry,” Bill said, “ _You’re_ the radio nerd of our friend group, not me. I write horror stories.”

“He’s literally the Voice of Doom.” When Bill just gave him another blank look, Richie shook his head, clearly looking exasperated. “Time marches on!” He said in the Voice, giving Bill another look, as if that phrase would suddenly give Bill the knowledge he was lacking. Bill shook his head and Richie threw his hands up in the air and turned to Audra. “You’ve got your hands full with this one,” he said seriously.

Audra gave him a tight lipped smile which Bill knew meant she was trying to hold back laughter. Her eyes were bright and when Richie turned away, she mouthed ‘I like him’ to Bill. Bill smiled sweetly at her.

“Staniel!” Richie cried, pushing his chair away from the table and startling Bill. He looked up and watched Richie rush over to Stan and Patty who approached the table. He pulled Stan into a big hug and kissed the side of his face. Stan grimaced and pushed Richie away.

“Richie, please.”

“And you must be Patty,” Richie said excitedly as he pulled from Stan and held his arms out to Patty in greeting. She accepted a hug from him. “Standrew has told me so many wonderful things about you, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the woman who was able to tame the wild beast that is our Stanelius.”

“Beep beep,” Stan said as he held out the empty chair next to Audra for Patty.

“Oh, but it’s been forever since I’ve seen you Standford!”

“Oh, hey,” Eddie said suddenly, “I looked up the definition of Staniel one day in the dictionary —”

“Nerd alert,” Richie said as he took his seat.

Eddie shot him a glare, “And I found out it’s actually a derogatory term. You’re pretty much calling Stan a useless person every time you call him Staniel.”

“I wish you kept that fun fact to yourself, Eduardo,” Richie said. “Now I feel like an ass.”

“You are an ass,” Stan said dryly. “I also looked it up once —”

“Wow there are some _nerds_ up in here tonight,” Richie said.

“It also has to do with falconry, references a kestrel.” Richie gave Stan a blank stare and Stan sighed. “It’s a small falcon that hovers by rapidly beating its wings while searching for prey.”

“Nerd,” Richie said, elongating the word.

“Weren’t you the one just going on to Bill about radio and Van Voorhis?” Audra said, tilting her head to the side, and Bill could have kissed her right then and there when Richie floundered. “That’s pretty nerdy to me.”

Stan let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I really like Audra, Bill. Bring her around more often. Not very often one of us leaves Richie speechless.”

Bill beamed, proud of Audra for so seamlessly fitting into his friend group, and elated by how easily his friends were taking to her. He really couldn’t remember why he had been so nervous to introduce them all to her before.

**December 24, 1999 | 7:09 PM**

Dinner had been extremely pleasant in Stan’s opinion. Of course, a bar wouldn’t have been his first choice, but it hadn’t exactly been Richie’s first choice either, so Stan wouldn’t hold it against him. The atmosphere had been nice, crowded enough that the seven of them were left mostly unbothered, but not so crowded that it was uncomfortable. Eddie had, however, complained that smoking was allowed inside the bar, which Stan was inclined to agree with. Eddie also complained about the sticky floors — _“It’s a bar, Eds. What did you expect?”_ — which Stan was, again, inclined to agree with, but it hadn’t been unpleasant. Richie convinced everyone at the table to play against him in darts at least once.

Stan had watched Patty absolutely demolish Richie at the game, hitting two bullseyes, and one just shy of the mark, which made Richie cheer loudly despite his loss. _“Your girlfriend is way too cool for you, Stanethan,”_ Richie had all but yelled in his ear. By the time they had all eaten and the awkwardness of new people meeting each other had melted away, Stan was feeling fairly relaxed, in fact, he’d even go so far as to say he was having fun. He knew that once the last two of their friends were included, that niggling part in the back of his brain would quiet down and any sense of unease he was still feeling would diminish as well. 

They were in the middle of paying their tabs when Mike interrupted their merriment. “Wait, guys, Richie never told us about…”

Stan looked over at Richie who blanched, looking extremely uncomfortable all of the sudden, and Stan couldn’t help but feel bad. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private?” He suggested, nudging what he hoped was Richie’s foot and not Eddie’s under the table. Richie gave him a grateful look and tapped his foot back.

“We could go back to my place,” Richie suggested.

"You mean your parents' place," Stan said, crossing his arms.

"Well, duh, I don't own property in Derry, Stan," Richie shot back. "But they already have at least forty questions for me, and you guys are probably going to ask a shit ton of questions and I'd rather get it all out at once. I've already talked about it too many times today."

"Fair enough," Stan relented. "We'll meet you there then? Unless you want to ride with us?"

"Nah," Richie replied as they stepped outside. "I'm riding with Eddie. Thanks, though." Stan watched him catch up to Eddie before heading over to his own car.

Once he and Patty were settled and he was pulling out, Patty spoke. "I like Richie," she said with a fond smile. "He's exuberant."

"He was subdued tonight," Stan said, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel as he pulled up to a stop sign. "I suppose it has a lot to do with his flights. And Eddie."

"That was subdued?"

Stan let out a small laugh, "Yeah. I didn't have to 'beep' him every five minutes, so he was definitely subdued."

"What is that? The beeping."

"Beep beep, Richie?"

"Yeah," she said.

"It's just something we've said to him forever now. I started it, when we were toddlers. He's always been… excitable."

"Oh, you've been friends for _that_ long?"

Stan sighed wistfully, a smile crossing his face. "Yeah. He’s four months older than me,” he explained. “Born and raised in Derry, both of us. Actually, all of us except Ben were born and raised here for the most part. Ben didn’t move here until ‘88, but he ended up graduating with us. Beverly moved away in ‘91, which sucked. But Richie, Bill and I, well, I guess you could say that we were the _original_ Losers.” He pulled into his parents’ driveway and shut off the car. “Guess that comes from living so close to each other. Bill was right down the road, too, so the three of us saw each other all the time. There was a daycare program at the synagogue,” he explained, “So we’ve known each other since diapers. I’ve been ‘beeping’ Richie for as long as I could speak, apparently. It started one afternoon when I was over at their place to play, and it just stuck. The best part is he _listens_ to it.” 

Patty followed Stan as he walked a block down Witcham Street, “There, that house,” he said, pointing catty corner from where they stood. “That’s Bill’s house. This one,” he said, jabbing his thumb back to the house behind them, “Is Richie’s.”

“You were fortunate to live so close to them,” she said fondly, waving at Mike as his truck puttered down the road to park at Bill’s house.

“Yeah,” he said. “Eddie lives nearby, but his mom really hated the idea of him leaving the house. I guess she had a huge battle with the school district about homeschooling Eddie, but she didn’t have the credentials to do it herself, so she had to send him to Derry Elementary. He started kindergarten over a week late, so when he showed up,” he giggled, thinking about how Eddie had been dwarfed by his clothing and the fanny pack at that age. “Wearing a fucking fanny pack of all things, Patty, Richie took an immediate interest in him. By the end of his first day of school, the four of us were practically inseparable.”

Mike, Bill, and Audra crossed the street to them. “What’re you talking about?” Bill asked as the five of them fell into step to head to the front porch. Ahead, Stan could see Eddie and Richie talking as they waited for the others.

“I was just telling Patty about how you’ve known Rich and I since forever.”

“Diapers,” he said fondly.

“Yeah,” Stan said, echoing the sentiment. “I think my mom has a photo album somewhere,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Oh, Stan!” Patty grabbed his arm, her voice rising with excitement, “You’ve got to show me those, please!”

“Stan’s got to show you what?” Richie said as they came into earshot. “I guarantee whatever Stan can show you, I can show you an even better ti—”

“Beep beep, asshole,” Eddie said, elbowing Richie in the stomach before Richie could finish whatever obscene thing he was trying to say.

“Thank you, Eddie,” Stan said, voice dry. Richie gave him a wounded look.

“You guys are so mean,” he pouted.

“You deserve it,” Stan said plainly, giving Richie a level glare. Richie gestured for everyone to follow him into his house and stepped inside. Stan felt a wave of nostalgia rush over him as he stepped into the Tozier’s home; it had honestly been far too long since he’d come to visit Maggie or Went, which felt like a crime, suddenly. They had always been hospitable people, warm and welcoming to Stan, and, truthfully, they were present in a lot of his memories. It felt like he was neglecting a set of parents by not dropping by more often. 

“I brought friends!” Richie called into the house loudly. “We’re going to talk about the extremely traumatic shit that happened to me so if you want to ask questions, you can find us in the living room!” He turned to his friends with a smile that was far too cheery compared to what he had just said, and then bumbled toward the living room. 

The group of them trailed after him like ducklings, and if what they were about to talk about weren’t so serious, Stan might actually have laughed at the image. Richie flopped down onto one of the couches in the center seat, and as if by unspoken agreement, Eddie and Stan dropped to either side of him. Mike, Bill, and Audra took the other couch across from them, and Patty dropped into an empty armchair. Stan shot her an apologetic look, feeling bad that she was the odd one out, but the look in her eyes was full of supportive understanding and some of the uncertain tension in Stan melted away.

**December 24, 1999 | 8:28 PM**

By the time he was done rehashing the events of what happened, and answered the many questions his friends and family had for him, Richie was truly exhausted and nauseous. At some point, Eddie’s hand ended up over top one of his, his thumb absently tracing over the back of Richie’s hand. Richie was looking down at it, like if he pulled his eyes away, it would suddenly cease to be real. Then it dawned on Richie which of Eddie’s hands was on his when the light glinted off of his wedding ring. Another wave of nausea coursed through him, this time having nothing to do with the attacks. He stood suddenly, eliciting a small gasp from both Eddie and Stan, and under normal circumstances, he’d crack a joke about the two of them being jumpy, _and was all this zombie virus talk getting to you guys?_ but Richie didn’t have it in him right now, stomach churning and thrashing about.

Instead, he mumbled out what felt like maybe a ‘sorry’ and ‘toilet’, but he wasn’t even sure his throat was actually producing any noise besides a gag, because it seized and then he was hurrying down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom. He was barely able to flick the light on, shut the door, _and_ lift the toilet seat before he was vomiting. His body felt like it was on fire, no, more like the time when he was working in a kitchen doing food prep and the wall had gotten food all over it. It had taken a damp rag, and without thinking, wiped it across the outlet that was on the wall — it had been dirty and the only logical thing was to _clean_ it. He remembered the way it had zapped him, making his whole body jerk, and buzz momentarily before his fingers and arm went numb and tingly.

Right now, his whole body was feeling that buzz again, but at a level he could barely handle. He wanted to rip himself out of his skin, leave himself exposed and raw, bare to all his friends. _I’M IN LOVE WITH EDDIE!_

He wanted to scream.

He heard a tentative knock on the door behind him as he vomited again. “Richie?”

 _Stan_. He let out a small sigh of relief, because if Eddie had been the one to follow after him, he might have had to start bashing his skull off the porcelain toilet just to keep himself from slipping up and telling him everything. Napping with Eddie had sounded like such a good idea at the time, he had tried to tell himself that as long as he pretended like it was nothing but friends being friends, bros being bros, dudes being dudes, just a nap, everything would have been fine. 

But then he had hit snooze on his alarm, and when it went off again, actually rousing him from sleep, he was able to see how compromising their cuddling had gotten. Eddie’s hands had been pressed against his chest, thumbs tracing lazy shapes in his sleep. Their legs were so interwoven that Richie wouldn’t have been able to get away without waking Eddie even if he tried. One of his arms had gotten trapped under Eddie’s body, so all he could do in the moment was roll away slightly and turn the alarm off again.

When he had rolled back over to see if Eddie was awake, he had come level with sleepy brown eyes. Whatever greeting had been in his throat at the time shriveled and died when he saw Eddie was looking at him with the softest, sweetest, _sleepiest_ smile Richie had ever seen in his life; a rare genuine smile from Eddie. It had made his mouth go dry, and his blood boiled when Eddie, voice gravelly and low from sleep, had said, “Afternoon, Rich.”

All evening Richie had felt that electric buzz under his skin, and with every look, every laugh, every little touch exchanged between him and Eddie, it had only grown, and grown, and _grown_ until it was engulfing him. Until it had become so overwhelming the only thing his body could think of was to vomit it all out.

The door opened and closed, and he heard the sink turn on. “I got you a glass,” Stan said, kneeling beside Richie and handing him the water. “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” he croaked, taking the drink with a shaky smile.

Stan sighed, brow furrowing just slightly, “Rich.”

“Please don’t make me talk about it,” Richie said with a breathless laugh, trying to take a sip of water, but gagging the second it touched the back of his throat. He managed to not vomit, but he didn’t miss the way Stan only looked more concerned.

“I won’t make you talk about it, but… Christ, Richie, you really don’t look good. Are you eating?”

“Stan, I literally just ate,” Richie said, gesturing to the toilet, which he then reached up to flush. 

“No shit,” Stan said. “I meant, just in general. You look like you’ve lost a lot of weight.”

“Isn’t that usually a good thing?”

“Not when you’ve always been a twig to begin with. You were finally starting to fill out there last year.” Stan’s hand rested on Richie’s back, and Richie pressed his forehead against the toilet seat, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt Stan take the glass of water from him, and he was grateful, because now he could hug the toilet better. “What happened?”

Richie let out a wet laugh, tears pressing at the back of his eyelids, and he tried to keep them at bay, but when his stomach flipped again, making him gag hard, he couldn’t stop them from rolling down his cheeks. “What do you think, Stan? Come on, you know me better than anyone else out there.”

Stan was quiet for a while, and Richie tried to keep his breathing under control, but the buzzing under his skin wouldn’t stop.

“You’re not taking the marriage well, are you?”

It was like a slap to the face how spot on Stan was, and the truth of his words made Richie dry heave into the toilet again.

“Is that why you started making it so hard for him to get ahold of you?”

Richie whined, gripping the toilet tightly. He was really crying now and there was no stopping it, especially not as guilt and nausea crashed down onto him again and again like a tsunami. 

“Richie, you know he deserves better than being ignored,” Stan said, sounding very much like a scolding parent.

“I fucking know that, okay?” He hissed between his teeth. His mouth tasted awful. “But just fucking look at me, okay? This is how it is after every phone call. When I realise that no matter what I feel, or how much I feel it, he’s married to Myra and lives across the country from me.” He whimpered after he threw up again. This time, Stan was the one to reach up and pull the lever for the toilet.

“You throw up after every phone call?”

“Yep,” Richie said glumly. “It wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t married,” he admitted. “I think it’s the guilt.”

“What do you have to feel guilty for, Richie?” Stan asked, sounding affronted.

Richie picked his head up from the toilet and leveled a glare at Stan, who at least had the decency to look apologetic when they finally met eyes. “Take your fucking pick, Stan.”

“You need to talk to him.”

“Stan, I have said those words out loud exactly twice in my life,” Richie said lowly. “Once to myself when I _realised_ , and once to you when I was having a mental breakdown because of it.” He winced at the memory of that breakdown. It had been alcohol and drug induced, and had resulted in him calling Stan from a payphone in the middle of the night a couple of blocks from his dorm hall. It had _ended_ in Stan calling an ambulance and them finding Richie collapsed in the street and a giant fucking needle getting jammed into his heart to bring him back to life.

“Richie, you can’t… you can’t just pretend forever,” Stan said softly. “It’s eating you up inside,” he said, and Richie knew he was right but, God, he wanted to punch Stan for it. “I think it’d do you a lot of good to just _tell_ him.”

“Fuck you, Stan.”

“Richie —”

“No, seriously, fuck you. I can’t tell him! Do you know how much that would fuck up our friendship?” Stan sighed and opened his mouth to say something but Richie cut him off, “No, seriously, man. It would ruin it. Do you understand that everything about him and I would have to change? I like what I have with him, okay? If I can’t be more than friends with Eds, I’d rather _just_ be friends. He doesn’t need to know, okay? If he knew…” He stopped and shook his head.

“He’d start to over analyse everything, Stan. I couldn’t touch him anymore, because then it’d be this game of ‘is he touching me because we’re friends’ or ‘is he touching me because he loves me’ and it would make everything weird, no matter how hard we’d both try for it to not be.” Richie sighed, looking down at the glass of water. “I know he wouldn’t stop being my friend, but we’d end up growing apart because then he’d also be active in trying to distance us, and then… Fuck, Stan, I wouldn’t be able to handle that.” He sipped at the water, staring intently at the underside of the toilet lid.

Stan didn’t answer, but he resumed rubbing Richie’s back, so Richie hoped that meant Stan understood the precarious position he was in, how fragile the whole situation really was.

“And I just… I guess I’m struggling with the whole attack thing,” Richie admitted, voice wavering again. “I keep thinking about that guy. Stan, he was only seventeen. And I definitely hurt him. If the belt wasn’t hurting his face, I definitely heard something break when I kicked him away from me.”

“Richie,” Stan said, voice level and careful, “You know you didn’t do anything wrong, right? You did what you had to do not only to defend yourself, but others as well. He was going to hurt _you._ He was going to hurt more of those passengers and you helped stop him. You’re a hero.”

That was twice today that Richie had heard that, so why was it so hard for him to believe? “I really don’t feel like one,” he said to Stan. “My mom said the same thing but it just feels like… I’m not deserving of that title. I didn’t do anything special.”

“You literally helped subdue a, for lack of better term, zombie, Richard. That’s pretty heroic to me. I’m sure a lot of those people see you as a hero to them.”

“Not to the girl who got bit, or the flight attendant he got to,” Richie said numbly. “They’re just going to get sick now.”

“You’re right, they will,” Stan said, not one to sugarcoat things. “But doctors are aware of this virus now. They’re starting to study it, and with its aggressive nature, I’m sure it’s a top priority for them. But by stopping that guy on the plane, Richie, you saved _more_ people from getting infected. What you did today was so incredibly brave, Richie, and I am so proud of you. And I’m proud to be your friend.”

“That’s gotta be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Stanley,” Richie said with a weak laugh, but the words made his chest warm. He looked back over to Stan, who gave him an honest and soft expression.

“You deserve more than you give yourself credit for, Richie. I wish you would be nicer to yourself. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I mean that, seriously.”

Richie blinked away tears, feeling choked up. “Thanks,” he managed to force out. “That’s definitely the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said, correcting himself. “I love you, Stan.”

“I love you, too, Rich,” Stan said, reaching up to ruffle Richie’s mess of curls. “Now brush your teeth. I’ll be back in the living room, unless you want me to tell everybody to scram?”

“No, I’m okay,” Richie said, forcing himself to stand, wincing when his knees popped. “I’ll be just a minute.”

“Okay,” Stan said, rapping Richie’s arm with his knuckles. “See you out there.” Stan opened the door and let it close behind him, and Richie ran the cold water to wash his face with; he hoped to leave the bathroom without giving away the fact he’d been crying like a child.

**December 24, 1999 | 11:35 PM**

Eddie definitely had not been meant to overhear that conversation. He had spent the rest of his evening distracted, mulling what Richie had said to Stan in his head over and over, dissecting every sentence, every word, every fucking syllable. He knew he had been being obvious that something was wrong, if the nervous glances that Mike, Stan, and even _Bill_ had been shooting him, and he was grateful when Bill had finally decided it was getting late, and that most of them had familial plans to tend to the coming day, so they should probably all be heading home.

He had declined staying at Mike’s again tonight, feeling like he had already piled enough onto Mike’s plate, but now he was beginning to regret it. He had tried to lay down and force himself to go to sleep, even toyed around with the idea of washing a few of those sleeping pills down, but ultimately decided against it. Right now, he was pacing in his old room, wringing his hands nervously as bits and pieces of Richie’s conversation with Stan played over and over in his head.

_“You throw up after every phone call?”_

_“Yep.”_

Eddie’s chest felt tight with nerves. Richie had been throwing up after every single one of their phone calls for months now? Ever since he got married, Eddie realised, Richie had been pulling away from him. He knew he wasn’t going crazy when he felt like Richie was deliberately avoiding him; he had been. Because Richie was in love with him, _“I can’t tell him! Do you know how much that would fuck up our friendship?”_

Eddie tugged at his collar as he tried to take in air, but his lungs were too tight for it to be productive, and he knew he was literal seconds away from a full blown panic attack if he couldn’t get himself to calm down, but how could he? Richie was in love with him, and granted, he would never hold that against Richie, but how long had this been a thing? How had Eddie never noticed that something was there? He racked his brain, trying to find the clues, the hints, the… whatever Richie could have dropped to give him _any_ indication that he’d been in love with him all this time.

Richie was in love with him and Eddie had practically begged him to be his best man. Richie stood at the altar beside him, gave him his unconditional support, despite the whole time being heartbroken and devastated that Eddie was marrying Myra. It made so much more sense now, how all his friends _except_ Richie had pulled him aside and tried to talk him out of it. Eddie tried to tell himself it wouldn’t have made a difference even if Richie had told him that he didn’t have to marry Myra, but a twisting feeling in his gut told him another story.

If Richie had pulled him aside and had that conversation with him, Eddie might not have gone through with it. How different would everything be if Richie had talked him out of it? Would Eddie still feel as high-strung and worn out as he did? Would he dread going back to his apartment if Myra wasn’t there? 

He paused, hand resting over his chest as he sucked in wheezy breaths, shaking like a small dog left out in the rain. Richie was in love with him, like, actually in love with him. Richie, his best friend, one of six other people Eddie would lay his life down for, and he was in love with Eddie. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and for a split second he worried he might be about to have a heart attack, but then he realised what it really, truly meant.

He was still struggling to breath, but a sudden wave of bravery swept through him, and he lifted his left hand up to look at the golden band that rested there on his hand. A band that felt more like a handcuff. It never felt warm against his skin, a persistent, cold pressure that drove him nuts. He fiddled with it constantly, and not due to his standard nervous fiddling. It was uncomfortable, from the second Myra had slid it onto his finger to now, ten months later. It had never felt right, and now he knew why.

God, how had he been so completely _blind?_

He brought his hands together, fingers pinching the band like they always did, before he twisted it nervously. He hesitated, unsure if he was ready to actually do this, but then he realised there was no one here to see him, or to stop him. There was no reason to not do what he had thought of doing the day he arrived here in Derry — and god, didn’t those two days feel like a lifetime ago to Eddie. He twisted the ring again, this time pulling it off. It was the first time he had taken the band off for any reason outside of not wanting it to get dirty, or working on something with his hands that made it dangerous to be wearing a ring, like when he worked on cars. It wasn’t something he got to do often, especially since marrying Myra, but it had happened a few times. There was a pale band on his finger, a reminder of what had once sat there. He curled his right hand around the ring and exited his room, hurrying down into the kitchen. He stepped on the peddle of the trashcan, hand poised over the lid.

Was he really about to throw his ring into the trash?

Was he really about to throw his marriage away, both literally and metaphorically?

For Richie?

This time, Eddie didn’t hesitate when he pressed his foot down and watched the lid open up. Before he could doubt himself again, he opened his hand, letting the ring fall from his hand and into the garbage, almost immediately falling further into the can than he could see.

He lifted his foot off the peddle and stepped back, realising he could breathe better than he had been able to for hours.

He let out a little laugh, then another, and another, and another until he hysterically laughing, clutching the kitchen counters, tears streaming down his face.

“Holy shit,” he wheezed. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” He straightened up and wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, sniffling and trying to compose himself. “Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Right. Okay, Eddie. You’re gay. Yep, there it is. Way to go.”

He realised he was grinning like a fool to the empty space in his mother’s kitchen — or would it be his soon? He shook his head of those thoughts and let out a long sigh. “Took you long enough,” he muttered. The smile faltered and he leaned against the counter, tired. His body was exhausted, and so was his mind, but he couldn’t get his racing thoughts to stop. What was he going to say to Richie? Would it be okay to tell him he overheard his conversation with Stan? Would Richie be mad at him if he told him that? Would Richie believe Eddie if he told him that he finally, _finally_ understood what he had been refusing to believe for years, that the way he felt for Richie was the same way Richie felt for him?

He grasped at the air as if there was something tangible to hold onto, but he came back, unsurprisingly, empty handed. He swallowed thickly. _“I know he wouldn’t stop being my friend, but we’d end up growing apart because then he’d also be active in trying to distance us… I couldn’t handle that.”_

Eddie was devastated that Richie was so broken up about his feelings for him, but he understood where he had been coming from. It made sense that if Eddie was married to a woman who was in every way, shape, and form nothing like Richie, that it wouldn’t make sense for him to have feelings for Richie. It was reasonable that Richie was scared to lose Eddie if he had come out about his feelings, Eddie would have been terrified if the roles were reversed. The scariest and most heartbreaking part, however, was that if that rejection had ever happened, Richie might not be here.

Maybe he would have tried to kill himself, and maybe he would have succeeded, and that meant a world where Eddie didn’t have Richie Tozier in his life. A world without Richie felt too dark, too dull. It sounded so cliché, but Richie really did bring the world to life for Eddie. Eddie had spent so many years being told the world was a certain way, dangerous, unsafe, deadly, but Richie had come along and had shown him that the world could be so much more than that. That it could be bright and loud and a frenzy of excitement and euphoria, like the carnivals they used to go to. Or quiet and calm, like the nights they had spent in the Barrens as teens, watching the lightning bugs come to life as the world went to sleep, laying in the grass next to each other. He had learned that the world could be full of safety and security and warmth, like falling asleep wrapped up in long arms, pressed against a broad chest, with the breath of someone you cared so _deeply_ about ghosting across your neck.

He brought his hand up to his neck, and thought about when he had woken up in Richie’s room, how ridiculously well rested and comfortable he had felt. It had felt… right.

He wanted to feel that way all the time, and he was realising that he had always felt that way when Richie was around. He was in love with Richie, in _love_ love.

_“You’re not taking the marriage well, are you?”_

The whine Richie had let out after Stan asked him that question echoed through Eddie’s skull, and he bit down onto his lip hard enough that the pain snapped him back into reality. Was it too late to call Richie? Surely he had gone to bed by now; he was exhausted and worn out, Eddie could tell when they all were saying their goodbyes, but he also knew Richie fairly well, and if Eddie as this worked up, chances were Richie was just as much of a mess as him right now. His fingers twitched and before he could think his actions through any further, he moved forward.

**December 24, 1999 | 11:47 PM**

Richie was laying in his bed, arm sprawled out across the spot where Eddie had laid earlier in the day. His conversation with Stan played in his head on repeat.

Eddie _did_ deserve to know that Richie’s feelings for him weren’t strictly platonic, Richie could admit that much, but he was too selfish to risk their friendship like that. If he found out, he found out, but Richie was no more inclined to tell him now, even after his freak out, than he had been earlier in the day, or two weeks ago, or ten months ago, or ten _years_ ago. He sighed, pulling his arm back in against his chest, curling up on himself somewhat.

He could see that Eddie was worried about him when he left earlier, but he hadn’t asked and Richie hadn’t offered to explain, and maybe he was a shit friend for that, but how could he even start to explain to Eddie what was wrong with him? Putting his feelings to words was not one of his strong suits; there was a reason he defaulted to coping either with humour or shutting down. Right now, he was shutting down, but when the cycle turned to this, it was often less effort to let himself run the course rather than fight back. There was no use trying to distract his mind, because the only things that briefly worked were the same things that almost killed him in college, and while he was comfortable with drinking, he wasn’t exactly looking for a coke plug here in Derry. Word would travel to his parents fairly fast, maybe to Stan even faster, and that wasn’t a risk he was really willing to take just for a few hours of blissful, drug induced apathy. 

He let his eyes close, fully prepared to make up some excuse to his parents why he wouldn’t be joining them for their Christmas dinner despite literally being in their house. He planned to stay in bed all day tomorrow, using the excuse of being busy with family as a means to ignore all his friends.

He opened his eyes suddenly when he heard a loud ‘tink’ come from his window. When he heard it again, he sat up and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand before turning on his bedside lamp. This time, he didn’t just hear the noise, but saw the small rock that made it, and all at once, he understood what was happening. He swung his legs off his bed and hurried over to his window, throwing it up and just barely missing the oncoming rock as it flew into his window and past him, landing on his floor with a clatter.

“You almost hit me,” he hissed out his window to Eddie who stood beneath it in the dark of night.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I was going to call, but I didn’t want to wake anyone up.”

“What are you doing here?” He asked. Not that he wasn’t happy to see Eddie, the problem was that he was _always_ happy to see Eddie, even when he knew how much it hurt to part with him. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I… I couldn’t sleep.”

Richie’s heart thudded hard and painfully against his ribcage. “Think you can still maneuver up that tree or would you rather I come let you through the front door? Or have you forgotten we aren’t teenagers anymore and don’t have to sneak around?”

“I’d try the tree for old times sake if it weren’t so fucking cold,” Eddie said, bringing his gloved hands to his face and covering his noise. “Come let me in?”

“Gimme a minute,” he said, pulling away from the window and grabbing the pajama pants he had discarded earlier. He tugged them on, swearing in pain when he stepped on the rock that had sailed into his room. He scooped the rock up and hurried downstairs, not caring about making noise, but also not purposefully trying to wake anyone up. He unlocked the front door and swung it open wide enough for Eddie to get inside. “I stepped on this,” he grumbled, shoving the rock toward Eddie.

He was surprised when Eddie shucked off his coat gracelessly, letting it thud softly onto the floor, and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Richie’s torso. Despite having been bundled up, Eddie was freezing and it was enough to make Richie’s teeth chatter, or maybe it was the proximity of their bodies.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, voice sounding thick, and Richie was immediately concerned and confused.

“For the rock? Dude, don’t be. I knew it landed on my floor and my dumbass still tried to pull on my pants like I was an underage boy trying to flee from his girlfriend’s house because Dad came home.”

Eddie chuckled into Richie’s chest, but it changed halfway into a sob, and he sniffled, holding onto Richie tighter. “Is it possible to have a midlife crisis at twenty-three?” He asked.

“If you die at forty-six then, yeah, I guess it’s technically a midlife crisis.” He finally brought his arms down to hug Eddie, not oblivious to the tell tale signs that Eddie was in need of some good old fashioned comfort. “What’s eating you, man?”

“Can we go to your room?”

“You trying to seduce me, Kaspbrak?” He asked, hoping it came out sounding like a joke, but even to his own ears he could tell it was forced. “At least buy a man dinner first.”

“Richie, please,” Eddie said with a sigh.

“Okay, okay,” Richie said, holding himself back from chasing after Eddie’s touch as they parted their hug. Eddie walked ahead of Richie, and Richie took this moment to look over Eddie. His shoulders were tense and he watched Eddie try to force them into a relaxed position, only for them to end up pulled up and tight around his ears all over again. His body looked as alive with electricity as Richie’s had felt, and it was kind of worrisome to see. As soon as they crossed the threshold to his room and the door was shut behind him, Richie spoke, “It’s not your mom, is it?”

“What?” Eddie said, giving Richie a blank look for a second before realisation set in, and Richie didn’t miss the flash of guilt that crossed Eddie’s features. “Uh, no. I haven’t… I’m going to go visit her tomorrow, but I haven’t heard anything.”

“Oh,” Richie said, digging his toes into the carpet on his floor. “So if that’s not why you’re here…”

“I—” Eddie started talking, but then paused, his mouth still open slightly. His eyes were wide and frightened and all the conflicted feelings Richie had been having mere moments ago suddenly seemed so trivial compared to this. He stepped closer to Eddie, arms out as an offer for another hug, and Eddie accepted it with barely any hesitation.

Richie held onto him tightly, breathing in the scent of Eddie’s shampoo without being too obvious about it. “I’m here, Eds, don’t worry. Take your time.” Richie lost track of how long they stood there, just holding each other, but he had begun to sway them slightly at some point, humming softly.

“You’re going to make me fall asleep on my feet,” Eddie finally said, voice muffled by Richie’s chest.

“Hmm? Can’t hear you, Spageds.”

Eddie pulled from the hug, and looked up at Richie. Richie felt his heart melt at the action. Before he could stop himself, his hand was coming up between them, reaching for Eddie’s face. He caught himself right before he cupped Eddie’s cheek, and he flushed, feeling the heat from the tip of ears to his toes, and he was certain his face and neck had to be a brilliant shade of red.

“I’m gay,” Eddie said and those two words knocked Richie’s world off of its axis, making it spin wildly. He saw his room careen off to the side violently, and then he felt Eddie’s hands on his upper arms, gripping tightly and straightening him. Eddie was saying something, but there was a ringing in Richie’s ears, but he was aware that Eddie was leading him to his bed, where they both sat on the edge.

“Sorry,” Richie said when he finally found his voice, exhaling with a shaky laugh. “I just… You’re… You’re gay?”

Eddie paused this time, before nodding slightly.

“But your wife,” Richie said lamely, trying to ignore the way his heart was fluttering, hopes rising dangerously. He was going to set himself up for heartbreak if he wasn’t careful. Just because Eddie was gay didn’t mean Eddie liked him in that way, he had to remind himself.

Eddie shrugged slightly, wringing his hands together. Richie saw him go to fidget with his ring, before he realised there was no ring there to fidget with. Eddie dropped his hands back into his lap. “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “The more I think about it, the more I realise that I don’t love her. Fuck, Richie, I think I might actually dislike Myra.”

“What? But you — you’re married.”

“Yeah, and it was a mistake.”

“Maybe you really are going to die at forty-six.”

“Beep beep, Rich,” Eddie said, but it was said weakly. “I think I only married Myra because I thought that was what I had to do. I didn’t… feel like I had any other option. I certainly didn’t think I could be —” He waved his hand in the air, “Gay.” There was another short pause before he continued, “I threw my ring in the garbage.”

“Oh.” Richie said, because he wasn’t sure what there even was to say about that. There was a joke in there somewhere, but he didn’t feel like Eddie would appreciate a joke at the current moment, so he refrained. “What next?”

“I… I’m not — I don’t want to go back to that apartment to her,” he admitted. “It’s fucked up, but I’d rather stay in Derry than go back to that. Richie, I… I was so unhappy.” He turned to look at him and Richie could see the exhaustion written clear as day on Eddie’s face, and it wasn’t just from lack of sleep. It was the kind of exhaustion that came from inside of someone; Richie was no stranger to it. “We fought all the time. She’s controlling like — like my mother, Rich. She’s almost exactly like my mother.”

“She didn’t seem…”

“Yeah, I know. She wasn’t, not at first. But then we got married and she — two months in, Richie, she threw out my entire wardrobe and replaced it with-with this,” he said, gesturing to the outfit he was wearing right now.

“Polos and khakis?”

“Yeah,” he answered and Richie blinked in surprise. “I fucking _hate_ polos and khakis. What am I? A middle-aged insurance agent? Fuck, I was so pissed. Richie, she even threw out my running shorts and shoes. Who does that?”

“I… shit, Eds, that’s actually kind of fucked up.”

“And you know, I started carrying around my inhaler again these past couple of months? I’m not asthmatic, I know that, she knows that, but she made me go see a doctor and he wrote out a prescription for it, and the next thing I knew I was picking it up at the pharmacy.” He fidgeted, and Richie had to resist the urge to reach out and pull him against his side.

“The last ten months have been nothing but a repeat of my childhood. She’s always saying she knows best for me, like _I_ wouldn’t. Just like my mom did. She has all these medications in our bathroom that I’m supposed to be taking, and I feel like I’m thirteen again and trying to keep my mother from figuring out that I’m flushing them down the toilet. But this time, it’s my _wife_.”

“And we don’t have sex,” he said, ears and cheeks going pink, making the freckles there stand out in a way that was undeniably cute, and again, Richie had to resist the urge to reach out and touch Eddie. Boundaries, he reminded himself. “I’ve tried. I — I had her convinced I wanted to take things slow and that I wanted to be married before we did anything, but then we were married and I had no more excuses.” He sounded so morose, and Richie hated it. He hated sitting here, hearing Eddie tell him he was gay and in an unhappy marriage and the only thing he could think about was _he’s gay, what if he likes me back, don’t touch him, don’t be weird, he’s your friend first, Richie._

“I couldn’t… our first time. I couldn’t…”

“Performance issues?” Richie said, unable to refrain entirely.

Eddie let out an awkward laugh, but it sounded relieved, “Yeah, actually. And then every time after that, when we’d try, I’d get myself worked up, but in like, the wrong way. I was way too high strung about it to ever enjoy anything we did, but I know now that I literally couldn't enjoy it even if I tried, because I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to have sex with her, not because it’s _her_ but because she’s a woman in general.”

“How’d you… How’d you realise?” Richie asked, hoping he wasn’t crossing a line by asking, but he was desperate to know if there was even an inkling of a chance for him. For all these years he had pined over Eddie, and now there was the smallest sliver of possibility.

Eddie went quiet again, before giving Richie a careful and level look, obviously weighing his words carefully before he said them. Regardless, Richie was still woefully unprepared for what Eddie said next.

“I heard you and Stan talking.”

“You… You what?”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said quickly. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just worried about you, so I was coming to check up on you, and when I got there, you guys were already talking and I heard—” 

“H-How much did you hear?”

“... Enough,” he said after a moment. “I know that you…” He faltered, but gestured from Richie to himself and Richie understood plainly what Eddie was referencing. Panic rised up inside of him and he quickly scooted down the bed to put more space in them, trying to not let himself feel too upset by the way Eddie’s face scrunched up in hurt and confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Richie said, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could even think about them. “I — I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to make things weird. I understand if you—”

“Hey, wait, no, Rich, wait.” Eddie closed the distance between them again and Richie felt trapped and dizzy. “Hold up,” he said softly. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. I don’t — there’s no problem there, Richie. It’s okay.”

“It’s… okay?”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “If it wasn’t do you think I would have come back over here and told you I was gay?” He let out a small laugh, but only served to make Richie more confused.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Eddie shook his head, a few more small laughs escaping him. “Richie, it’s okay that you feel that way about me because, well, I, uh… I feel the same way. About you.”

Richie’s heart literally fell through his stomach and through the floor, through the first floor, through the basement, and into the ground. It wasn’t until he saw Eddie’s face close to his, brows knitted in worry, mouth moving but no words reaching his ears, did Richie realise he had stopped breathing and started crying. “No,” he croaked out, the tears against his cheeks hot and fast. He balled up his fist and shoved his knuckles into his mouth, groaning around them as he curled up into himself some.

He squeezed his eyes shut as sobs wracked his body. If this was a dream, Richie wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive waking up from it; if this was a joke, Richie wasn’t sure he’d be able to go on another day; if this was true… Well, fuck. If this was all really happening, then Richie seriously had no idea how to process or handle any of it. He sucked in an uneven, almost painful breath, more sobs escaping around his knuckles. He shook his head, repeating “no” to himself occasionally when able.

“No?” Eddie asked, voice sounding tentative, almost like he was close to his own breaking point, and that only made Richie cry harder. For years he had thought about what this moment could be like, the two of them expressing their love for each other. Usually his daydreams ended with a passionate and promising kiss, before moving onto more domestic thoughts, such as _“Would Eddie want to get a dog?” “Does he still prefer his coffee black?” “I wonder if he prefers scrambled or over easy eggs.”_

Yet here he sat, on his bed in front of Eddie who mere moments ago told Richie he felt the same way, and instead of a passionate embrace full of promises and love, he was sobbing. “No what, Rich? Did I… misunderstand what I overheard? Are you… are you not…”

Richie let out a slightly hysterical laugh, shaking his head, “N-No, I am,” he said, finally able to bring his fist away from his mouth and speak without worry of more sobs interrupting him. “I just never… Me? Really, Eds?”

Eddie looked at him, confusion evident. “Why not you, Richie?”

“B-Because I’m—” He paused, seeing something dark fill Eddie’s eyes. “Me,” he finally said, quietly, shamefully.

“But… That’s _why_ ,” Eddie said, persistent. “Don’t you see that?”

Richie shook his head, not trusting himself to answer with his voice.

“Richie,” Eddie said, whining slightly. “Richie it’s all because you’re _you_ .” Eddie reached up to cup Richie’s face, sliding his thumbs under Richie’s glasses and wiping away the tears that were beginning to fall again. “It’s hard to explain, but… I just feel right when I’m with you, if that makes any sense.” He paused, frowning slightly as Richie shook beneath his touch. His touch was almost too much for Richie to handle, but if he pulled away now, Richie might break all over again. “I think about you all the time,” he admitted. “I see things and think to myself ‘Oh, Richie would love that’ or ‘When I call Richie I _have_ to tell him about that’. All of my thoughts end up circling back to you. Did you know Myra was furious when I asked you to be my best man, which, I’m sorry. If I had… If I had known, I wouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

“Eddie,” Richie said, voice cracking, “I would do anything for you. I just wanted to be a supportive friend.”

“I know,” Eddie said, voice thick, and Richie watched him as he swallowed, barely able to tear his gaze away from Eddie’s throat when he started talking again. “Once, she even asked me if I was secretly dating you, because apparently I talked about you too much.”

Richie laughed at that and Eddie looked surprised, almost dropping his hands from Richie’s face, but Richie reached up to cup one of Eddie’s hands under his own. “Remember that girlfriend I had our freshman year?”

“Sandy, right?”

“Yeah, well, she said the same thing. Asked me if I was gay because apparently I was too dependent on you. She said it was like I couldn’t exist as just Richie. It had to be ‘Richie and Eddie’ or ‘Eddie and Richie.’ It’s why she broke up with me.”

“Oh, Rich, I’m—”

“She was right, though,” Richie said. “I got really paranoid that if — if she could see it, then who else could? Stan, apparently, but I’m not surprised by that one. I did have a problem back then. It really was like I couldn’t exist just as myself,” he admitted, and it felt kind of good to say. Cathartic. “My worst fear was you finding out and… and being disgusted, or upset by it. I would have done anything to keep you as just my friend, even if it meant nothing more. I didn’t want to think about having anything less with you, you know?”

“Rich, I could never—”

“Hearing you say that you-you feel the same way, it’s like… It feels surreal, you know? I think I’ve loved you since we were thirteen,” Richie said. Now that he was talking, it was hard for him to stop. The floodgates were open, and he had to let out the worst of it before he could start trying to pull them shut again. “Maybe even before that,” he added on. “I was thirteen when I realised I was… different.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything, or at least tell us you were gay?”

“A part of me couldn’t admit it even to myself,” he said. “After everything with Bowers and his gang of bullies… Looking my friends in the eyes and telling them that I really was a faggot wasn’t something I had the strength to do.”

Eddie bristled slightly, his free hand dropping from Richie’s face to his shoulder where he gripped Richie tightly. “Don’t call yourself that.” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not—”

“But I am,” Richie argued back. “I am, Eddie. I’m a queer. A fairy. A poof. A — Whatever term they threw at me. That’s me. It’s who I am. It’s why I couldn’t tell you guys, because… I didn’t want Bowers… I didn’t want Patrick to be right about me.”

“Patrick?”

Richie winced as not-so-great memories of Patrick flashed through him. The blade to his neck, Patrick’s hot breath in his ear, the fear and taste of bile in his mouth. “He liked to find me when I was alone,” he said slowly.

“Richie,” Eddie said, using the hand on Richie’s face to guide him into looking at him. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Richie lied easily. “Nothing more than what he usually did to any of us. He just liked to scare me.”

Eddie scanned his face for a while, clearly dissatisfied but not willing to prod or dig any further and Richie was extremely grateful, because he honestly wasn’t ready to open up that box of trauma. “Okay,” Eddie said after a while. He swallowed thickly, “But if you ever need to talk about — about anything, Richie.”

“I know,” he said, and this time he was telling the truth, because he did know he could talk to Eddie, or any of the other Losers, about anything that had happened to him, or that had hurt him. He didn’t keep it from them because he thought they’d judge him, but because it wasn’t something he was comfortable opening up about to anyone, still. “Just… some of the things they said to me… It’s followed me, you know? I didn’t… didn’t want to make them right.” The tears were building up again, and he was almost frustrated by it this time.

“Nothing they ever said was right, Richie.”

“Bu—”

“No,” Eddie said so firmly that Richie felt he had no other choice but to believe him. “Okay, so you’re gay, but that doesn’t mean the things they called you, said to you, or did to you were ever right, that you ever deserved it, or that you ever deserved to have it fuck with you so badly you couldn’t be honest with yourself and your friends.” Eddie was wiping away Richie’s tears again, voice soft and sweet. “You’re kind, and loyal to a fault. You love your friends, so much, Richie, and it’s noticeable, okay? And that’s not a bad thing. Your heart is full of love and on your sleeve and I think that’s beautiful. I wish I could be more like you,” he said. “You bring the room to life. People are enthralled by you. I’m enthralled by you.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Richie sniffled.

“Yeah, well, spaghetti is apparently my name.”

Richie broke out into an honest to God smile and laughed. “Did you just?”

“Yep, and you’ll never hear me say that again.”

“Please, please repeat it.”

“Nope, one time deal. That was it. All you get.” When their laughter died back down, Richie couldn’t help but yawn. “Jesus,” Eddie said. “It’s past midnight, and you’ve had a hell of a day. I should get going, let you get some rest.”

“Wait,” Richie said. “Would it… Would it be weird to ask you to stay?”

Eddie, who was already standing slightly, looked at Richie with an odd little smile that made his heart flutter like a bird trapped in a cage. “Not any weirder than any other time. I’m stealing clothes to sleep in, though, if you expect me to stay.”

“Will you?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, going over to Richie’s drawers, making a noise of surprise when there were actually clothes in it, and pulled out the first shirt and pair of sweatpants he found. “Take your glasses off,” he said, turning to face Richie. Richie pretended to pout, but did as was asked off him. He even turned his head away as Eddie changed. “Okay, I’m gonna crawl in next to you.”

Richie watched the Eddie shaped blob crawl into his bed and he reached over to turn the light off. They got situated in the bed, fairly similar to how they were laying in it earlier, only this time, Eddie was already facing Richie, hands pressed against Richie’s chest.

“Eddie,” Richie said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Would it be too much to ask if I—” He cut himself off, realising just how much that was really asking of Eddie, and tried to shove the idea out of his head before Eddie could figure out what he had been trying to ask.

But, Eddie, perceptive as always, finished Richie’s thought for him, “Kiss me?”

“I…” His mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to make up another request, but he was too tired to think clearly, the stress of the day making him sluggish.

“Yeah,” Eddie said after a moment with a small chuckle. “You can. If you want to,”

“Do you want me to?”

Another small pause, but when Eddie answered, his voice was dreamy and languid. “Yeah. I do.”

“I can’t see you, so don’t make fun of me if I miss your mouth.”

“Now I feel like I have to make you miss,” Eddie teased, but he didn’t move away like his words suggested even as Richie closed the distance between them.

When their lips connected, Richie felt that buzz all through his body again. From the ends of his hairs, down to every nerve cell. He held Eddie tightly, but gently, and Eddie clung to the front of his shirt like a lifeline. Eddie’s mouth was warm, a little chapped, but not unpleasantly so. He tasted like mint — toothpaste? He felt Eddie sigh against his mouth, and that rush of hot air went straight to his gut, making his toes curl slightly. He didn’t dare push the kiss any further than that, though, and after a few more seconds, he slowly, achingly parted from Eddie. This close, he could make out the pleasantly dazed expression Eddie wore, even in the dark of his room.

“Good night, Eds,” he said.

“Good night, Richie,” Eddie replied, warm breath ghosting Richie’s face. One of Eddie’s hands came up to cup his face again, warm and smooth for the most part, a few calluses on his fingers, but it was all in all, extremely nice to have Eddie’s hand on his face like this. Richie could get used to it. “I love you, Richie.”

“Fuck, Eds,” he said, feeling like he might start crying again. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmh, they're just boys in love. Kudos appreciated, but comments always make my whole day. I love getting feedback and hearing what you liked about a chapter, but please never be afraid to point out errors or things that you think could have been written differently. I'm always open for respectful critics as well. That is, after all, a part of growing as a writer. 
> 
> Also, fun facts! Westbrook Van Voorhis is a real person, and he really is responsible for the stereotypical newscaster voice that was prominent in the 1930s-60s.
> 
> Also, that really is the definition of the word 'staniel' which I googled randomly on a whim while working on a different fic at one point, and it really is a derogative term for a useless person, or in reference to a kestrel. Weird, how words work.
> 
> Me, rereading this to check for errors: OH FUCK RICHIE NEVER GOT RID OF THE ROCK. WHERE DID IT GO


End file.
